My Winter Curse
by Justice Tokidoki
Summary: One piece of advice. Appreciate what you got and don't let jealousy get in the way cause if it does there's a high chance you'll do something stupid. Case in point, me. My jealousy killed my brother and now his ghost won't leave me alone. I've only got thirteen days to fix this, otherwise I'll face a punishment worse than death. {Based on an idea given by xxIAmTheSkyxx}.
1. The Encounter

**Whoo! Happy Friday the 13th! Mwahahahaha!**

**...Yeah, this story exists for three reasons.**

**1. Vanitas practice (and black humor).**

**2. The fact that it is simply a special day on two accounts. One account is a secret and the other one . . . well . . . it's the 13th. Remember that number, it's pretty important.**

**3. My friend, xxIAmTheSkyxx, is having a clearance event for 10 of her stories in her ****Development/Possible Stories**** section of her profile. If you have the time, check them out because the summaries are very interesting and there may just be an intriguing premise to help you get out of writer's block and whatnot. That being said, the credit for this story idea goes to her. Thank you!**

**Well, without further ado, enjoy! **

**Disclaimer/Warning: Yeah, I don't own KH guys. Ahem, and this is mainly rated for violence and cussing (cause, you know, it's Vanitas). It does get a tad more dark when we get into character histories but that won't happen for a couple more chapters so you can relax for now.**

* * *

1. The Encounter

There's only so many ways you can start a story like this. Normally, I'd say to hell with it and overload you with so many details your ears would bleed out. Yeah, that's right. I have a freakin' motor mouth that would send most people up the hills. Course, if I started spouting crap at school everyone would look at me as if I had the freakin' bubonic plague and shit would go down. But that's a story for another time. And, by hell's grace, I don't really have time. Huh . . . I practically walked myself into that one.

So, the fact that I'm even starting to talk at all shows just how screwed I am. Pfft, and honestly I don't really give a damn anymore, but . . . given the fact that my death is approaching I'm going to break a few personal boundaries. So yeah, if you can't handle a few digressing paragraphs then get the hell out. Seriously.

Ahem, now how to start this pathetic hearse? Oh yeah, my brother. Yeah . . . shit.

Okay, so this story is technically supposed to be about myself, really, since, like I said before, I don't have much time. But there's no way I can really start this thing without mentioning him so yeah, kudos to you bro. You're the cause of about 75% of my pain and misery. Great, ain't it?

No. I have to stop doing that. I can't keep blaming him for everything (even if he is as dumb as a rock). The stupid, foolhardy bastard. I mean, really, how could he miss it? How could he miss the fact that I was his killer? How could he not see the resentment, the hatred I poured out on a daily basis? Why didn't he realize his younger brother was jealous to the point where he threatened to kill himself twice? Why did he have to be so naïve, huh?

Oh, that's right, because I never said anything. You know what, judge me all you want, but I'm tired of having to spell out everything for everybody. Hell, if you can't catch up by this point something is wrong with your head. I have to scream to get anyone's attention around here! To hell with that, I'm done.

Wait . . . I'm not done. I have a stupid story to tell.

Dammit.

* * *

Okay, so it started like any other day. It was raining, my parent's were having their idiotic breakfast conversation (which was really just an argument in disguise with a ton of sugar coating, God), and like your average high school student I was just eager to get the heck out of there. School sucked but my house was the equivalent of a graveyard.

Okay, scratch that, it literally stood above a graveyard. There were people buried here and the surrounding area. I don't know why Dad chose to live so close to work, guess to be close to his dead friends or whatever. Yeah, it was stupid but it's where I live and perhaps the locale had a large part to deal with what happened later. But I'll get to that in a second, let's finish the stupid morning routine first.

So, I was skipping breakfast (I needed to get out of the crazy house fast, remember?) and leaving the front porch, swinging my messed up backpack that should have hit the hay a long time ago. Not much you can expect from hand me downs. I was mulling over how I would destroy the thing when I remembered that, surprise, it was the second anniversary of what's his name's death! Yeah, who would have thought!

The poorly disguised argument was starting to make sense and my body instantly shook. I pride myself in having a somewhat decent poker face. No one gets to see anything I go through. Period. So, if anything bugs me at all it usually shows up in the form of shaking and this awful reflex problem where I do a half jump that resembles more of a possessed hop.

I'm getting off topic again, aren't I? Dammit.

Where was I? Oh right, anniversary. Hell, so, as I said before, we live on a graveyard. So, which closest family member is buried in the backyard? Who? You guessed it, my brother (and if you didn't get that I question why you're even reading this drivel because you're probably not going to understand half of it with the way you're following. Leave, moron). This is where my conscience showed its ass and I knew that I would have to honor the traditions. It was still stupid, but it was the justified kind of stupidity. I hopped over the makeshift fence that barely reached my waist and stood over his grave, making my peace. And by peace I mean awkwardly staring back and forth before maneuvering my hands in random poses until I remembered what the universal hand sign for praying was.

Yeah, judge. Not like I can stop you.

So, I pretended to pray and care but I was mainly going through the motions. It was all about the guilt, really. I don't do funerals. It's a round of depression I don't need on my shoulders. Death is natural so my stance on it has been pretty light compared to most. But I couldn't just turn away from my brother's grave because I was the reason he was there. The least I could do was stand there like an idiot for five minutes.

Secrets weigh people down no matter what shape or form. His death had always been a part of the deteriorating process, the radioactive topic that chilled me in ways that nothing else could (and at this time I had seen a lot of shit. Just the drawbacks of an ex-gang member). The burden was on me to carry the family legacy, and the fact that Roxas (yes, ROXAS. I don't know why but every time I point him out as my brother people give me this dumb disbelieving stare that makes me want to kick them in the balls. So, if that look is on your face now you better leave) was the one in the ground instead of me . . . it would hit me at the strangest of times. Hell, it ruined my whole damn day. I'm not going to ramble on and on about classes because no one really cares. But, in the grand scale of important things, school always has been and will for future generations be either the savior or crap. For me it was crap, so anything involving school will be included sparingly.

So . . . after school was out my mind drifted into dangerous areas of the mental void. I was remembering too much, I was seeing too much, it was all too much. But I sort of had this mental wall-shield going on. I was confident that by the end of the day I could wash out all the bad vibes with a bath and a rant session online to ward the emo stink away.

But that day had been a weird day. Sure, it wasn't raining, but the air was heavy, my dumbass backpack was dragging me down, and to top it all off the mother of all headaches decided to screw with me. I knew this was going to be one of those things I would have to suck up for days before I could return to normalcy.

Yeah. Normalcy died the moment I stepped into the crazy house.

Roxas, my _dead_ brother, was standing in the middle of the kitchen with this dull eyed look half between confusion and constipation. It was so uncharacteristic and so sudden that I nearly dropped my backpack right there. But I didn't. I simply ignored him and rubbed my ass before walking up the stairs.

I know. A random ghost in the kitchen and I hightail it and leave. Here's the thing, I wasn't thinking clearly. I had purposefully clung to my depression like a demented child who couldn't let go of their favorite blanket. I didn't actually _see_ Roxas, my mind pinned it as an illusion and nothing more. I walked past him like it was nothing, and I am proud of that response.

I am not proud of the response I gave in the next few moments.

You see, he followed me. Now, this is usually when shit hits the fan and people think, "Shit, a dead guy is following me". Not me. I just dumped my stuff in my room, rummaged around for a cigarette, and glared at my backpack like it was the devil of all my problems. Roxas was standing in my doorway. I deftly avoided his eyes and lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag before pulling out my textbook and deciding right then and there that I was going to destroy everything in my backpack before I obliterated the useless mess of sewn fabric for the finale.

"Vanitas . . . ?" A cold, cold,_ cold_ desperate voice. A raised hand. The fire from my cigarette went out. There was no breeze.

And . . . this is when shit started happening. I blinked about ten times slower than your average snail, made this strange gurgling noise, then turned so that my whole body could face the doorway. Turns out that wasn't necessary because he was already standing right in front of me (did ghosts normally move that fast? I wouldn't know, I don't watch a lot of horror movies). He didn't blink, just tilted his head and breathed into my face. His breath smelled of ash, dirt, blood, and manure. "Vanitas?" he asked again. As if I didn't hear him, as if I wasn't freaking the hell out, as if this was perfectly casual.

I lasted for about ten seconds and then he touched my bottom lip with his forefinger. I shot up in one stiff motion and ran out of there faster than a guy stepping on hot coals. And, unfortunately, that wasn't the end of my reaction.

* * *

**And, that's the beginning. You'll have to wait until the next chapter for the rest of his reaction. **

**Thanks for reading, criticism would be appreciated because I don't write Vanitas often. Also, this will be a short story (a little over ten chapters). Alright, until next time.**

**Justice T.**


	2. The Reaction

The Reaction

Again, I admit, I don't watch a lot of horror movies. When it comes to television I've never jumped on the bandwagon. To me it seems like a waste of time and money (not like I pay the electricity bill, but whatever). Only time I watch anything is the news when I have trouble sleeping.

So forgive me if my method for confronting ghosts is a little unorthodox. Really though, come knocking on my door when you see the walking dead harassing you in your bedroom and then when you try to leave the house you can't because some unnatural force is preventing you from doing so! Wait a minute, did I say walking dead? That's the description for zombies, huh?

Ah, to hell with it!

Okay, if you didn't get it the first time, the door was freaking locked. The front door! From the inside! Okay? Am I being clear now?

I don't have a high blood pressure and I eat the daily helpings of your average scarecrow (yeah, I'm as skinny as you imagine. And freaky too). So it surprised me when my heart started beating a tempo more suited for war drums. Just this rough, harsh pounding. It brought the headache back and a whole bunch of crappy emotions but my mind was stuck recycling the same sentence over and over.

Roxas just freakin' touched me. Roxas just freakin' touched me. Roxas just freakin' touched me. Roxas just-

You get the deal. I'm sort of editing myself to be nice because shitstorms tend to take away from one's masculinity depending on the tone . . . oh wait, I just failed the censorship test, didn't I? Aw, crap, let's move on.

So, I'm freaking out and Roxas just has to make everything harder by coming down the stairs all slow . . . like, did he have to have that pseudo, doe-eyed expression? His arms just hung numbly by his sides, it was more of a zombie walk really, except instead of moaning and giving me a view of his rotting insides he was just staring at me. It's like my body is some type of magnet and his eyes can't resist the gravitational pull.

. . . that sounded so wrong on so many levels. Main point, I don't do well with staring, which is ironic considering my features are just asking to be stared at. I mean, who doesn't stare at someone with this shade of yellow for eyes? (Yes, they're natural. Hell, people need to stop asking that). Besides the fact that I was used to it, it didn't mean I liked that kind of attention, especially from my freaky brother who was sporting bullet holes in the chest, dammit! "Stay the hell away from me," I said, voice dark and raspy. You know, the opposite of the squirming, internal mess I was inside. Pfft, like I'm going to tell him that (hell, he should have never been there in the first place). "Not a step closer!"

He actually listened. He stopped at the base of the stairs, but for some reason this action freaked me out more. If this had been some high induced nightmare he would have kept walking towards me and eaten my brain or something. No, that's zombie behavior. Crap. What do ghosts do again? "Just . . . don't move!" I yelled right after turning my back and trying to pry the front door open. Idiot.

Yeah, I'm talking about myself. Surprised?

Roxas decided to up the torture and still listen to me. Just staring that same stare. He really could have passed for a statue and when I realized that I started laughing. Okay, it was more like a mixture between a cackle and a sob. My hands were white from trying to pry the door open and blood was trickling down my chin from where I split my bottom lip open with my teeth (ironically the same place Roxas had touched me. Insert shiver). Finally, I realized that the door wasn't going to budge no matter how hard I tried, and to save my fingers the agony I rubbed them repeatedly along the length of my jeans. My breathing was still off and I closed my eyes so that I could have a moment's peace. It could all just be a dream, I thought. All just some sick, messed up dream.

I turned my head back towards Roxas' creepy stare and gulped. I swore off the cigarettes at that moment and narrowed my eyes at him. You know, the way you sort of squint to make everything else around you blurry. To my horror his body didn't shift in and out of focus like I expected. In fact, when I squinted it was like I could see more of his skeleton along with this blue luminescence that I knew wasn't coming from the kitchen light. I blinked once and swore under my breath. Then I decided to entertain the devil. "Hey, Rox."

Roxas finally blinked (at least I think he blinked. I could see his eyes through his eyelids). "You can see me," he said matter-of-factly. Like a sane person admitting that the sky was purple.

No shit, I thought. What came out of my mouth was a tired sigh before a resigned, "Yeah."

He blinked again and I fought the urge to flinch. Then his trademark smirk appeared and I couldn't hold back the weird, involuntary hop. It looked ghastly on his new face. "Cool," he said. "You're the first one so far."

"Uh . . . you actually want people to see you?" I raise an eyebrow at that. I was starting to have a rational conversation with a ghost. Hell.

"Well, yeah. I mean, not like there's anything else for me to do." He shrugged, still keeping that crooked grin on his face but there was something in his eyes that messed the whole act up. The desperation screaming from those organs . . . it really freaked me out.

I grunted before cracking my knuckles. "Right. So . . . what brings you back here?" Why did you wait this long to haunt me, brother? If my thoughts sound rational don't fool yourself. I was still in shock, just the "I don't give a crap" kind of shock. It's the routine, the base of my natural personality. A sour dickhead. A grasp for normalcy, a mental call for help. Got it?

Roxas gave me this look. It basically translates to, "Are you stupid or something?" I frowned at him and crossed my arms because in my mind it was a serious question. Forget the fact that this was originally his house too. Forget the fact that he was a ghost and all the basic functions that you imply with being dead. You see how screwed my mind was at this point? I probably asked the most offensive question you can ask a ghost, in his own birthplace no less!

Yeah . . . who needs therapy?

After scrutinizing me Roxas walked a little closer. He stopped at arm's length. "What do you think, Vanitas? Come on, you're the smart one."

"Actually, you were the Honors student. I barely survived middle school without tearing the place down." My tone was entirely flat.

Roxas' smile widened. "You think I made it without cheating?"

"Are you kidding me? Roxas, why are you here!" I almost stomped my feet.

The smile disappeared and he gripped my shoulders. I froze immediately and he leaned in close, face only a few inches away. "This isn't a dream. I'm here _now_." His breath was hitting my face again and I swear the smell nearly made me pass out. "And I'm not going anywhere until you help me."

"W-what?" My voice barely rose above a whisper.

Roxas' face transformed into something purely awful and I felt my body heat plummet in the span of a few seconds. "Vanitas, I need you to save me."

After that, I couldn't hear anything. I knew my body was shaking (freezing), knew he was still talking, but I couldn't answer. My hands formed into fists as I slumped towards the floor. The last thing I remember was my heart hammering bleakly before slowing down in one sluggish set.

* * *

Humph, pathetic. What a lame way to go.

Huh? Wait, do you think I died? Pffft, you must have been drinking something strong. No. I'm still alive. Why in the world would I be writing this damn thing if it had ended that quickly, eh?

Nah, life wasn't done being a dick, obviously. Everyone knows the victim has to legitimately suffer through crap first. Really now.

Yeah, I just passed out. No big deal, right? It's just an everyday thing for someone like me to freakin' crash on the spot.

Hell. No. This was the first sign. I felt it in my bones the moment my eyes opened. I didn't see him but I could still feel his presence. My brain did this reel-like projection memory crap of everything that had happened that day so far and I instantly froze. A part of me wanted to scream out curses in the air, another part of me wanted to dig myself a hole and bury myself alive, and another part of me actually considered going up the stairs to my room to take another smoke just to mess things up further.

It couldn't have been real. He appeared before I took a drag, right? I whipped through these thoughts fast then shook my head to get rid of the little suckers. I saw Roxas before I took a drag, he had been in the kitchen when I first showed up. I growled and gripped my hair, pulling hard to distract myself.

Another stage of shock, being aware of denial. For a fleeting second I wanted death. I wanted it badly. Then I snapped myself out of it by accidentally banging my head against the front door. I hadn't realized I was sitting against it, but it didn't matter. With the pain came rational thought. I rubbed my eyes and decided that I would let myself indulge in fear for thirteen seconds.

**13**

I walked into the living room. Roxas stood next to the fire-place. He was staring at a picture.

**12**

I swallowed up bile, frowned, pulled at the collar of my shirt.

**11**

He tilted his head but didn't turn towards me. I was sweating now.

**10**

"Rox . . . "

**9**

I remember thinking that couldn't have been my voice. I don't sound like that.

**8**

Roxas pointed at the picture. I swallowed.

**7**

I grabbed the picture frame. His eyes followed the picture. He looked angry.

**6**

"I hate taking pictures," I muttered. It was a lame way to break the silence, but at that moment I had to destroy that silence otherwise I would've freakin' broken something.

**5**

"Pictures say a lot about people. They're frozen in time. No matter what happened in the past or the future it captures one moment." His eyes shifted to my face. "It's very powerful."

**4**

I couldn't respond. How could I forget my brother's love of photography?

**3**

Roxas reached for the picture. I pulled it back.

**2**

Multiple emotions passed through his face in a second. I only recognized one. Shock.

**1**

In that one moment I felt the significance of time. My heartbeat pounded relentlessly. The sweat coursed through me in unison. A dreadful noise similar to a whimper threatened to escape from my throat, but I fought it back. My body wanted me to run. The larger part of me wanted to run. But the serious part of me, this pitiful thread of familiarity and acceptance broke through my inner defenses, the walls that took me years to build. I opened my mouth and said, grimly, "I will save you."

Then, before the words could register in my ears, I dropped the picture frame. I watched it crack against the floor. The glass jumped in one disjointed motion, a sickening crunching sound. What burned through me were the set of people in the photo. My parents holding up what looked like a certificate sporting my name and Roxas hugging me in a grip that was too strong, too lively for such a scrawny little four-year-old.

And there was me. Black hair, yellow eyes narrowed from the force of the hug. I was frowning. I looked into my three-year-old eyes and saw only one emotion there. Resentment.

How is this possible? How could the lively, blonde kid below be dead and standing next to a guy who practically hated human contact since birth?

Oh right . . . I was part of that problem. That picture was the start of the thinking process, but it was nothing,_ nothing_ compared to what I would face in the next couple of days.

* * *

**Hmmmm . . . it got sort of serious in the end.**

**Thank you so much guys for your reviews/critiques/ and for favoriting/following! I didn't expect this much feedback this fast. Thank you so much.**

**Justice T.**


	3. Truth of It

Truth of It

After calmly proclaiming that I would save Roxas, I blacked out for the rest of the day. No, I didn't pass out but I might as well have. I simply stayed in my room and didn't speak for about three hours as I thought over what this whole thing meant. Now that my mind was partly out of shock I was starting to remember some of the more fine details of my brother's kind. Ghosts tended to make attachments to material objects. Something physical, maybe even living, was keeping my brother strapped to this house, to Earth. I told him that I would save him.

It was an idiotic choice. I shouldn't have promised that, I should have just told him the truth from the start. It was obvious what Roxas needed, it was obvious what needed to be done to let him leave in peace.

Yep. A clear-cut confession and I ignore that in favor of a path with more tension, more pain, and ridiculous obstacles for the both of us. It starts subtle, it starts with insensitive comments.

This is where the nightmare took root. "Rox, I can't think with you doing that."

"Doing what?"

I gestured towards his whole body. He was defying the most fundamental rule in the dead handbook. Touching and interacting with my stuff. Sure, I knew that some ghosts could get past their transparent forms and affect things in the real world. But Roxas was touching **my** backpack, **my** computer, **my** textbooks . . . hell, what did he need that stuff for anyway? Shouldn't that stuff have been toxic for him? I had thought ghosts were susceptible to pain when it came to dealing with their killer's stuff (unless I was confusing that with some other supernatural creature).

Roxas turned and gave me this smile that made me want to punch him (it was both a bad and a good sign. For one, it meant I was getting used to him). "I'm just making it easier for you is all."

I raised a single eyebrow. "Invading my privacy will help?"

"No. I'm holding these items because this is the stuff you use the most. Once you get used to my presence you won't pass out every time I touch you." His smile was softer now and I looked away. I hadn't realized that throughout all this Roxas had been giving me space, had never raised a finger towards me ever since the incident in the living room.

I swallowed back a cough and tried not to let that get to me. "Whatever. Shit!" I instantly dropped my backpack. "This stuff will freeze my fingers off!"

Roxas frowned once. "I see your speech has grown more pleasant throughout the years."

"Your point?" I smirked.

Roxas rolled his eyes. "I'd like to think that my _brother_ would be a little more understanding considering all the trouble it took me to find this place."

"Trouble? How in the world could you miss this dump? We're on a freakin' graveyard!" I rubbed my temple, shivering once. "Sheesh, you'd think this would be the first place you go to."

"That's not how it works." Roxas looked away from me, sliding a single finger down my beat up calendar. "When a spirit clings to the Earth they are immediately swept into a storm. A tsunami of sheer will and force. It doesn't affect the living, only the spirits who haven't moved on."

"Right." I leaned back, blinking once as he jumped onto my bed out of the blue.

He sat cross legged in front of me and rested his hands on my bed frame. "Yeah, so . . . I actually started my journey in Castle Oblivion."

"Huh." I couldn't think of anything to say.

Castle Oblivion is one of those places people generally avoid. It has a nasty reputation for drug abuse, crime, gang wars . . . pretty much any illegal activity you can think of has happened there once. The police have a nickname for that place that's pretty accurate: No Man's Land. If they work around drugs, they'll also hear this common term: The World That Never Was. Nearly everyone whose been there either stays or comes back with a concussion that always promises memory loss. If you happen to be a druggie coming in you tend to come out unharmed.

For example, me. But we'll get into that later, trust me.

Anyway, the fact that Roxas started off in the place where I spent most of my childhood only serves to get me pissed off. The anger was a distraction for me. It hid what was barely beneath the surface: Fear. If Roxas had landed there he's bound to have heard about me from other random sources (i.e. my fellow ex-gang members).

"Vani? Hey, you there?"

I squealed (more manly than you'd expect) and shifted away from him. His face had literally been inches away from mine. I shook as the cold reached my core, spreading through my arms and legs. I felt numb. Roxas' eyes widened, which only added to how horrible he looked up close. "Vanitas!"

At the tone of his voice I shivered again. "Stay . . . stay back . . . " I said. I could barely hear my voice.

Roxas tilted his head, blinked once, then moved over to the far side of the bed. My eyes strayed where his hands went, every patch of my crumpled blanket he touched. I knew at that moment that I wasn't going to be sleeping in those spots. Hell, I'd take the couch over that. I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to stop the tremors. "So . . . you started at Castle Oblivion?" I practically spat the name out, as if to make up for my pathetic attempts to hide my fear.

He probably saw through it but he didn't say anything, nor did he move an inch closer. "Yeah. It makes sense though, considering it's where . . . um . . . " He looked down at his lap, frowning. "I died there. So . . . it makes sense that I went there first. That's usually the first sign. Spirits don't travel to where they die if they're ready to leave. They go to see their family first. They go to the funeral." His eyes did this wary dance before coming back to my face. "I really am stuck. I have no idea why."

"You don't?" I tugged at my shirt collar. The air in my room was too stifling. The atmosphere was too heavy. Things had gotten serious in the span of a few sentences.

Roxas nodded once, and as I watched his eyes I knew he wasn't looking at me anymore. He was remembering something. "I . . . was shot three times in the chest." He lifted his finger, slowly moving it to each spot, to each blood stain. "I was shot and bled to death. It was a slow death . . . I could make out people shooting, people screaming. There was one person . . . a random person in a cloak . . . and then I was gone."

I nodded once. It probably came out forced as I felt the muscles around my eye twitch. Damn, I thought. I shouldn't be hearing this.

Roxas stopped rubbing his chest. "I forgot why I was there in the first place but, honestly, I have no connection with anyone in Castle Oblivion. There's nothing tying me there, and I don't hold a grudge against my killer. I . . . I should've moved on but I haven't." He looked into my eyes. "I was very confused when I woke up in the same spot where I was killed. I could even see the blood stains. I tried talking to people, asking around . . . but I was ignored every time. When my body refused to heat up . . . when I realized that I didn't have to eat . . . I knew."

"You knew you were dead," I said blankly, voice perfectly neutral. It was hard to say it to his face.

Roxas gave me a small smile. "Yeah. I'm dead."

We stared at each other for a while. I bit into my bottom lip. "Rox . . . it took you two years to find this place. Your own home."

"My own graveyard . . . " Roxas chuckled once. It was the driest laugh I had ever heard from him. "It took a long time . . . even if I don't need to _eat_, it doesn't mean I _can't_. Drugs have an . . . interesting effect on me as well. It isn't called Castle Oblivion for nothing." He shrugged once, as if the horrible info he just slapped on me was just that. A fucking sticker.

I growled. "So your solution to this was to get high?" I had to stop myself from spitting. This wasn't Roxas, he _did not_ just tell me he had become a spirit druggie. "Are you stupid?!"

"Sheesh, Vani, chill." He glared at me. "You've been acting really hypocritical lately. What, you think I never noticed the random cigarette dregs you had in your room? Quit being a smart ass."

It took me a moment to come up with a comeback because, yes, I really did think he hadn't noticed it. And it's not like I had been smoking for a long time, it was really only a couple months before his death. I only did it every once in a while when I was in a horrible mood (like this day). Still, Roxas was supposed to be oblivious to me. He never caught the bad moments, bad expressions, the warnings . . . so, I did a reversal. "Pfft, I ain't judging, moron. It's just . . . I don't see how that's supposed to help you find your killer."

Roxas rolled his eyes. "Please, what is this, a lame horror rehash? There's other ways you can pass on, idiot."

"You weren't this direct when you were alive," I muttered, not really intending for him to hear it. But, since I spoke my thoughts out loud he did. His facial expression morphed and I wished fervently for time to reverse so that I could take it back. But no, fate ain't changing the rules anytime soon (except for, you know, bringing Roxas back into my life).

Roxas cocked his head in a way that was physically impossible. "Look, we're not going to get anywhere if you keep playing this 'I don't give a damn' act. I know this is making you uncomfortable, alright? I get that. But the fact is I'm here now, you can see me, you said you would help me, so we're going to get this thing done so that I can rest peacefully in the afterlife or whatever."

"I didn't think I had a choice. You locked me in my own house!" I was glaring back at him but the larger part of me was trying to refuse what he was saying. Eventually though I had to accept the fact that this whole situation really was bothering me (and the way he had his head tilted made it look like his neck had just been cracked, so that was part of the revelation).

Roxas blinked then lifted his hands and slowly moved his head back into the right position. "Sorry. Sometimes this form sort of . . . moves on it's own depending on how I'm feeling." He grinned sheepishly. "Just think of it as me being double jointed or something."

He couldn't be a normal ghost. He just couldn't. Nevertheless, I tried to keep the conversation away from his stupid body parts (or was it spirit parts? Bah!). "Seriously? Did you just hear what I said?"

"Yeah, I did. I didn't think I'd have to resort to locks. I figured if I could trust anyone with this problem it would be you."

Couldn't be further from the truth, I said in my head. Out loud it was, "Why?"

Roxas sighed. "Vanitas . . . why do we have funerals?"

"Don't try to change the subject," I snapped. This was worse than body parts.

He rolled his eyes again (I tried not to focus on the empty parts of his eye sockets when he did that). "I'm not. What are funerals for, Vanitas?"

When he said my name like that, in a scolding manner, I fought my hardest not to flip him off right there. Instead I recalled a few words from Dad and said, "To honor loved ones. To show respect. To remember and move on." The last sentence came out as a mumble and I frowned.

"Exactly. Like what Dad said, right?" Roxas smiled sadly. "For a spirit, that's probably the closest we'll get to feeling . . . alive. The last message from the people who mattered most. When that happens, when we see those genuine tears . . . it becomes the key we use to leave. To move on. The bigger the funeral, the easier it is to leave."

I glared at my fingers, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Our funeral for you . . . wasn't that big."

"Size makes it easier, but the feeling is the same. What makes it special is when the family is genuine. That's what's important." There was a hint of a smirk on his face. "And even though I missed the funeral and the year mark . . . there was always one person I sensed who paid their respects. The same person who was the only one to come today."

". . . me?" He can't possibly call that respect, I thought. It took fifteen seconds just to get my hands into the right position!

"Yes. You. Not my parents, you." Roxas almost looked as happy as he did when he was alive and when he smiled his body glowed, looking for a second like he was just a regular person in white pajamas. His wounds faded and the skeletal outline was gone. But with one blink it all disappeared along with his smile. He continued as if nothing had happened. "That's part of the reason I was able to find this house. I trust you and the fact that you can see me means that you play a part in this. I can't figure this out without you, and you can't reject me either because if I don't move on at the right time . . . it will end badly for both of us."

"Can't I have some more time to . . . think this over?" _Like more time to figure out how to tell you that I killed you, for instance?_ If only it were this easy to confess.

"That's the thing, we don't have a lot of time." He licked his lips before turning towards the window, leaning on his elbow. "We only have thirteen days."

I blinked. "Starting when?"

"Starting now. It started the moment you saw me." He looked into my eyes. "Thirteen days. If we don't figure this out by then . . . we'll both be punished."

I didn't want to ask. My head was already overflowing with information. But, for some painful reason, I decided I could handle it. "Punished by who?" I asked it in an annoying way to top it off. The things denial will do to you . . .

Roxas closed his eyes. "If we run out of time . . . we will be taken to _her_. The reaper."

I was about to add more stress to my hammering heart and ask who_ she_ was when the doorbell rang. My parents were home. Roxas smiled again but it was forced. "Alright. Let's see if this will be a family affair."

* * *

**Urgh, this almost ended up being 3K! Whoo . . . **

**Anyway, character history. That's always nice, yes? And yeah, it's not the whole history but it's something. Thank you for reviewing, favoriting, following, and reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed and I look forward to seeing you all again soon (if school doesn't mess things up too much).**

**Justice T.**


	4. How the Elephant was Hidden

How the Elephant was Hidden

I had never felt so mixed in my entire life. Period. With each step I took down the stairs towards the kitchen I was wishing for two different things. On one hand, it would suck if my parents could see Roxas because then everyone would find out how screwed in the head I really was and I would be forever shunned once my parents realized I was Roxas' killer. But there was still that wretched, childish part of me that didn't want to go through this alone. No matter how mad my parents got, at least it would be out and I wouldn't feel like a crappy son for keeping this from them . . . even if I was a crappy son.

But I couldn't control what was going to happen. The moment I walked into that kitchen all I would be able to do was face the outcome. With two distinct options and only one path to get there, it really wouldn't require a huge act of bravery on my account.

In my defense, I was freaking stressed. Sweating bullets, wet palms, tearing up bottom lip with the edges of my teeth . . . yeah, all that. At one point I even stopped moving, but then when I felt Roxas breathing against my neck I picked up the pace (it was probably his way of helping. Figures since that always made things worse).

I fought to keep my expression neutral as Roxas stood beside me. We both blinked at our parents in unison. They were putting the groceries away. After five minutes of silence Roxas elbowed me in the ribs. "Ow!" I glared at him at the same moment Dad lifted his face up to us. I swallowed. "Uh . . . "

"What?" Dad frowned at me, his eyes completely passing over Roxas. I wanted to deny the evidence, but there's no way my dad could keep that straight of a face if he could really see the ghost next to me. Out of all of us, Dad was the most expressive (in ways that are too embarrassing to mention. I have a reputation to uphold after all, family be damned).

"Something wrong, Vani?" My mom gave me a small smile. I almost forgot that Roxas had got the nickname from her. She rarely used it after Roxas died, but sometimes it would slip out. Then she would blush and turn away, biting her bottom lip.

"No," I said a little too sharply. I was alone. I felt a cold force lightly patting me on the back but I dismissed it and sat at the table, scratching at my hair. Normally, when my stress reached these levels I would have to go out and hit something. The last thirty minutes had been hell, but adding all the crap from morning till that moment just made me want to do nothing but sleep.

That wasn't an option though. I owed it to my parents to at least eat dinner with them. They rarely came home at the same time anyway, so I knew this was planned.

See? I'm not too bad of a son . . . but I'm no Roxas. This came into my mind once and it was enough to nearly send me into another bout of depression. The exhaustion kept me from angsting properly, but images of getting high and cigarettes filled my weary brain no matter how hard I scratched at my head to distract myself.

"Got a rash or something?"

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing."

My dad made this "harrumph" sound before putting something in the fridge. "What are you in the mood for?"

I blinked once. _Did I hear that right? Did he actually just ask me that?_ "Uh . . . "

"How about hamburger casserole?" My mom winked at me. "Remember, it's your favorite."

_The hell?_ "What are you talking about, shouldn't we be eating-" I didn't finish the sentence, settling for a sigh that was just a yawn hidden in disguise. I didn't feel like correcting my parents, and again I was there to eat, so I decided to shut up.

Every November, even the first year after Roxas' death, we always ate _his_ favorite meals. It was just a strange system Roxas created back when we were ten. My month was October. Our parents chose January (cause they believed it was wrong to force their favorites during a time meant to celebrate the act of giving).

A break in tradition. Ironically, I was all for breaking tradition but this . . . this was different. This almost felt sacred and the fact that my parents were changing it up _that_ day of all days just didn't sit well with me. And to sink the knife deeper into my gut, Roxas had this look on his face because he didn't understand why I was so worked up. I whispered, "It's November," in his direction and I saw a spark light his eyes up before they darkened into these black pits. I kept shivering until he looked away from my face, muttering something I couldn't make out.

So I was left sitting at the table thinking all this over until the food was ready. I ate the food stiffly, absorbing every inch of flavor because it had been _so_ long since I had this dish. When the warmth reached my stomach I wanted to cry, because this was truly the only good part of my day. My parents both home eating with me, acknowledging what I actually liked.

Why did it have to be this day? My mind screamed this repeatedly and I placed my fork down. "This is . . . good and all but I'm not really hungry."

Dad glanced at my full plate then back to my face with an incredulous stare. My mom looked down at her plate. "Well, that's not an issue. You don't eat much anyways. I knew I should have given you less." Her voice shook at the end and I tried to backtrack.

"No, it's fine. Really. I just . . . need a moment." I pushed my chair out and stalked upstairs, swearing under my breath. It was a damn good casserole too but my stomach churned relentlessly at the idea of taking another bite. I had to leave it alone for a while otherwise I would throw up.

As my back tensed and a chill ran up my spine I knew Roxas was not too far behind. "Sheesh, do you really have to follow me everywhere I go?" I whispered harshly.

"Not really. Seriously though, what else do you expect me to do? You lose interest in observing life real fast when you're on the outside. Do you know how bored I've been since I found you?" Even though I wasn't facing him I bet he was rolling his eyes again. "Besides, you're the one heading into my room."

"Wha?" I blinked once as I stood in front of his doorway. What else would I have to lose that day besides my less-than-stellar attention span? My sanity?

Heh, don't answer that question.

After a few seconds of me ogling Roxas pushed past me slightly and opened the door.

I almost gasped upon seeing the inside. His posters were nailed into the wall directly across from me, sporting artists that I barely knew and, honestly, didn't give a crap about. His dust-coated TV was jutting out of his desk and the alphabetized collection of video games still stood neatly in the corner of the room next to a golden violin case. But above all, I completely forgot about the hand-made frame housing over fifty photos Roxas had arranged in a pattern of clusters. An impromptu timeline, if you want the basics.

Nothing had changed. I had to blink a few times to make sure it was all really there. If I closed my eyes and calmed my heart I could easily picture it, see Roxas grinning from the corner of his bed, messing with his camera only to pull it out of my reach when I threatened to break it.

_"Come on, Vani. It's only one picture. I've told you many times, whenever you smile I'm always going to capture it. When will you learn, huh?"_

Oh, that would just get me more pissed but Roxas had a peculiar way of kicking someone's ass when it involved a camera. Still, I would try to take it away and then it would turn into a tickling fight where he would somehow always end up on top and . . . and . . .

"Vanitas?"

"Yeah?" I coughed into my arm, trying to hide my eyes.

"Look at this."

I took in a shaky breath. "Hold on, I think my nose is sensitive to the amount of dust in here." I coughed again and wiped at my eyes. "Give me a moment."

"Take all the time you need."

_Freaking bastard . . . stop acting like you care._ I breathed in deeply before walking over to him. "What?"

He smiled and gestured to his drawer before pulling out one of his many scrapbooks (I lost count after he reached thirty . . . and that was at the age of eight). "This is something . . . I should've shown you when I was alive. I kept this a secret for a while because I knew you would hate it . . . but I think it's a good starting place for us. A compass of how we'll figure this out."

"Huh, I fail to see the logic in that." A part of me was curious but another part of me had a sinking suspicion that what was in the scrapbook would make me cry. And I _hated_ crying with a passion (you know, if you couldn't already tell).

"Hah, you gotta open up your mind a little, Vani." He sat on his bed, staring at me expectantly.

I rolled my eyes before walking over. "Please stop calling me that."

Roxas chuckled. "It makes it easier. Rebuilding this routine . . . how we interacted before . . . it just helps. You'll be thanking me for it later." He started whistling as he flipped the scrapbook to page one.

I pursed my lips. "You're right, I do hate it," I mumbled, knowing fully that it was an irrational response.

I guess I better explain. I really, really, _really_ hate taking pictures. It has nothing to do with weight, fake emotional displays, or even how long it takes for the anal photographers who take twenty minutes to set up one pose. No . . . it's my eyes. I know, typical reason, but I really can't stand looking at them. They're just a reminder that I'm different, that I didn't originally come from this goody-doing conservative haven of blue eyed freaks.

Yeah . . . it's just a stamp of what I've lost and my adoption. Yellow eyes are unnatural, yellow eyes are evil, yellow eyes are creepy, yadda yadda yadda (you know, the usual dumbass bullying quips from little four-year-old turds). Well, I had a parent with yellow eyes, ever think of that, morons?! I had parents that shared this unique trait with me . . . who gave me this part of themselves when I was conceived. These eyes aren't just unique to me, but they soon became a burden because I was the only one who survived to make an impression with those eyes.

In them I saw the man my father was, the man I could become, or even the spirit I inherited from my mom. But now they were just a curse and I grew to fuckin' hate them!

Ugh . . . sorry.

Anyway, thanks to this honed piece of metal I call hatred I couldn't stand looking at my own face and therefore I couldn't stand it when Roxas just had to take a picture of me and put it on display. We got into arguments about this all the time (cause he had to freakin document every little thing) but eventually he respected my wishes after I approached the topic in a _mature_ manner.

. . . or at least I thought he had until I saw that scrapbook. With all the pictures he took of me I knew he had found a way to sneak them in. And it was the legit kind of sneaking, these pictures looked planned. I mean, I didn't think I could get into some of those poses, but they looked . . . natural. They were mainly boring poses though, just me walking or me staring at the TV . . . tedious stuff.

But . . . in every picture I was smiling. Well, most of them were smirks, but there were no frowns whatsoever. Of course, this only brought a frown to my face at that moment because I didn't understand what the heck this was all for. "Rox . . . I thought you were creepy before, but this is taking it to a whole new level."

Predictably, he punched me in the shoulder. "Could you quit saying shit for five seconds and take a look at the big picture for once?" From the way he was scowling I knew I had struck a chord.

But hey, if he could get away with making puns using photos I didn't feel the need to lay off on the insults. "I can't look at the big picture if there's more than one picture."

"Seriously? I think you need to look again."

"I am looking and all I see is a whole bunch of pics where I look stupid." I said this harshly even though inside I was squirming.

Roxas looked hurt, as if I had slapped him. "You don't look stupid . . . you look happy."

"No. These are fake smiles that you happened to get on accident."

"So are you telling me that Ariel's Macabre wasn't your favorite show? You weren't happy when you got your first drum set?" He pointed to a random picture. "And this isn't you feeling happy after eating Mom's homemade apple pie that you said, and I quote, "couldn't get enough of," even though you hate apples? Huh?! So all of these are a lie then?!"

I took the scrapbook from him with a huff and practically glued my eyes to the pages. "You're just saying . . . saying . . . " I stopped talking and _really_ looked. It was terrifying because he was right. Every single picture showed a moment of genuine happiness, the rare moments of my childhood where I didn't force myself to be involved. I was more than involved with the family that had chosen me out of countless other kids. In those square snippets of my life I belonged . . . and they had somehow all passed me by.

I watched as a droplet of water landed on a photo of me smiling at a random joke Dad had been telling Mom. "Goddamn it . . . " I wiped at my face but the tears kept coming. I shook with the force and dropped the book on the floor. "Why did you have to go and do that, huh? You knew this would happen didn't you? You freaking . . . lunatic . . . "

"Vanitas . . . this is the first step." He turned me towards him. His smile was encouraging. "I want you to properly grieve . . . and then I want you to accept this and let go."

"W-what are you talking about?" I shuddered at the sound of my voice. It didn't belong to me, I didn't recognize it. Huh . . . guess it just showed how long it had been since the last time I cried.

"Your case is rare. You weren't supposed to see me, Vanitas." His smile was sad now. "It's obvious that a part of you hasn't let me go . . . and it's part of what's keeping me here. Only a part, but now it's time for you deal with it, which means that you need to accept who I was fully. I don't want you to remember me just as your OCD brother with a thing for cameras. I want you to remember me as the person who always saw the good aspects of you . . . because that's what family does."

The only word I can use to describe his smile at that point was this. Radiant. Three different smiles and the difference in impact was groundbreaking. "Vanitas . . . I have _always_ seen you as my brother and nothing less. You deserve this family."

I caved in. I gripped him in a hug that hurt me physically and I moaned his name, shaking and crying. He didn't say anything and I was grateful to the point of obsession because if he had so much as muttered my name I would have exploded from the emotional intensity. Sitting there in a room I hadn't entered in over a year had been the final pin in the coffin for my personal walls. They had already taken fatal hits and this was the final blow.

There were too many things running through my head at that time but one thing was for certain. I finally knew why Roxas never realized that I used to hate him, that I was jealous. He never focused on the bad parts of me; he only concentrated on the good. He thought of me as his brother; he wholeheartedly accepted me into his life. Snap of the fingers . . . it was just that simple for him.

It was both brutal and tragic that a continuous perspective based on selflessness could hide such a vicious elephant in the room.

* * *

**Man . . . I really loved writing the final scenes in here. I hope you enjoyed reading this update as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for all the critiques and support! You guys help make this story what it is and I really appreciate the effort.**

**Until next time.**

**Justice T.**


	5. Unwanted Sight

Unwanted Sight

Hindsight.

A gift and a curse. Seriously, I'm not playing around. This type of shit never helps. All it does is remind you of how stupid you were in the past, how ridiculously obvious the right path was to find. You make a mistake then your intellect switch is pushed to "ON" and your brain will send you a set of images that align perfectly in the order of what you should have been doing and so on.

Why do we have to act smart after the fact? Why must we get all the answers when it's already too late?

Duh. It's so that we don't make the same mistakes, moron!

Well? Were you thinking that? If so I don't blame you, but I'm going to politely ask you to shut up now cause it ain't helping. Yeah, forget that this is all me rambling about the past and just nod your heads in agreement. It makes things easier.

Well . . . now that my semi-unnecessary rant is over I can get back to the meat of things.

* * *

So, basically, we're going to skip a couple of hours and jump to the beginning of the next day cause, frankly, no one wants to read about me crying twice (well, maybe you do but I sure as hell ain't putting it up back to back. Wait a bit. You may be satisfied later).

That morning sucked for two reasons. One, I still had to go to school (also known as the spawn of the devil's hideout. Half of my high-induced fantasies played out in that wretched place). Second, I decided right then and there that I was going to tell Roxas the truth.

There would be no stuttering, no pulling of shirt collars, and definitely _no tears_ (I have to say stuff like this twice. It's the only way people know I'm serious).

The thought of even saying the word "kill" would make my back arch involuntarily. But it had to be done. I couldn't take Roxas' kindness for granted. What he showed me erased all doubts that I could have had in him as an older brother. Sure, he may have missed (or purposefully chose to ignore) the bad moments but deep down he cared more than I could have ever imagined.

And I was going to be the jackass to enlighten him. It's a difficult position to accept, but I couldn't hide behind my hatred and ignorance. I was still alive. My brother was dead. If I repeated that enough times it made practicing easier. This is how I spent my first couple of hours; standing in front of the mirror, reciting what I was going to say in my head, then deliberately reminding myself where we stood in this arrangement.

I was alive. My brother was dead.

I would have practiced out loud but Roxas was standing in the corner of my room and I wasn't going to let him hear me mutter the truth randomly. No. I would face him. I would look him in the eye and give it to him straight. At the very least I owed him _that_.

It took a couple of minutes for me to build up my resolve. I turned around, opened my mouth, then Roxas interrupted me, saying, "You're going to be late for school." He finished it off with a smug grin. He could have easily said something that whole entire time but instead he decided to raise my stress levels by trying to piss me off.

Whether it be to ignite the old routine between us or to distract me from my heavy thoughts, this immediately put me in a bad mood and I kept my mouth shut for the half hour walk to school. I know, immature. I'd say old habits die hard but . . . yeah, that was inappropriate. Whatever, I'm not taking the blame for this time.

Speaking of time . . . "So, we only have twelve days left or something?"

A dark shadow passed over Roxas' face (which just made his face a darker shade of blue I guess) before he replied. "Yes, once school ends. After all, that's when you saw me."

"Right." I squinted at him. Since I had been ignored him all morning I hadn't been studying him closely as far as his appearance. His hair shined a little more, which made the blonde parts stand out (unlike what most people thought, Roxas' has dirty blonde hair. He just dyes the rest of it to match). His skin still had that bluish tint to it, but now the bullet wounds weren't bleeding out and his outfit was completely white. His features were less gaunt, overall adding to the 'innocence' he naturally gave off.

His shift in appearance was so sudden to me that I had to blink a few times. Roxas calmly stared back at me with this small smile on his face. My stomach twisted as I imagined that smile turning into something else (like a snarl). I had to look away. "Vani? You okay?" His voice matched his new look: light, airy, and full of understanding.

"Nothing. You just look . . . different."

His chuckles easily filled up the hallway. "Good. I should look different. If not, then that means I'm doing something wrong."

"What? You're losing me."

He tilted his head. "How should I put this . . . um . . . basically, spirits look different to everyone. With different perceptions and ranges of belief we take on different forms depending on what people can and _choose_ to see."

"Huh."

He stopped me with his hand then cupped his own mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs. I flinched but the students, predictably, walked past me. Besides a few incredulous looks in my direction, no one acknowledged Roxas' presence. He grinned at me but there was a certain spark missing in his eyes (hmmm, maybe it had been gone from the start). "See? Most people don't think about death. Most don't even believe spirits can interact with the living world. That weakens _The Sight_."

I raised a single, wary eyebrow. "The Sight?" I repeated. I didn't mean for it to sound like a question.

"Yes. The Sight. The ability for any human to see a spirit. It's a pretty rare ability when you factor in every human on the planet. The most notable cases involve people who are the spirit's killer, about to die, or are obsessed over the concept of death."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and, shamefully, scratched at my shirt collar. "Where do you think I fit?"

Roxas stared long enough to make me feel self-conscious. His lips parted slightly and then he frowned. "I'm honestly not sure. I want to say you fall in the obsession category . . but I feel like that would be misleading."

I forced a cough. I could at least be truthful about some of the details. I figured easing my way in slowly would be better than nothing at all. "Yeah. That isn't me."

"Well, then it's probably your drug history. People like that, especially from Castle Oblivion, tend to see us more than most."

"Somehow that's not surprising." I smirked, trying to push away the tension eating at my innards. "No wonder everyone there is so messed up."

Roxas laughed. "It doesn't really matter. The fact that my appearance is changing for you means that your perspective has changed. Do I look better to you than when I first appeared?"

"Better." I looked him up and down. "Hell of a lot better." It honestly reminded me a little of an angel, but saying that would feel wrong on so many levels. After all, if Roxas was an angel what did that make me?

His smile widened then turned into a smirk. "Good. I'd continue gloating about how my master plan is working but I think we should wait until lunch. People are starting to stare."

I didn't even look up at the surrounding faces to see if he was right. I could tell just by the placement of feet and how stagnant most of them were. I swore vehemently under my breath before running the rest of the way to class while blocking my ears just so I wouldn't have to hear Roxas' knowing chuckles.

I shouldn't have done that. I should have just soaked the interaction in, let the laugh fill me completely so that I would have something positive to associate with Roxas. But even in that mindset I took his kindness for granted.

Those moments couldn't last. I should have known that the fleeting laughs and chuckles were limited. But let's be honest here. Gratefulness isn't my strong suite.

* * *

When lunch finally did come I tried to find a place to talk with Roxas in private. The search was annoying cause my school is so big so people are everywhere. It's like the place is crawling with ants and people can't help but run around like their heads have been cut off.

It's so irritating.

Anyway, eventually I was able to find the art room on the second floor. Hardly anyone goes up here anymore because of a certain blonde psychopath, but I digress. "Okay, now spill." The command came out harsher than I had intended it to. I was just fed up because throughout class Roxas had sent me these heartfelt glances that made me want to chuck something at him. He didn't know how much worse things were going to get for him. He didn't know how much this was going to hurt.

Roxas ignored me, staring around at all the random pieces of artwork in the room. "I . . . almost forgot about this place." His mouth turned into a firm line and his eyes were dull.

I raised a single eyebrow and looked around myself. My eyes widened when I saw the grotesque portraits. Headless soldiers, women with snakes coming out of their mouths, people with multiple arms . . .

This was Namine's studio (aka the psychopath's lair). First, I randomly stumbled into Roxas' bedroom and now I'm in his girlfriend's twisted room of death and Goth-ness. I almost wanted to throw up.

Okay, I guess a short snippet of background is necessary here. The thing about Namine that always gets on my nerves is her facial expression. Yeah . . . she doesn't have one. It's just this dull, contemplative stare complete with bambi eyes and heart shaped lips forever closed. Everyone thinks it's cute, but I, personally, find it creepy. The one thing I remember upon meeting her in middle school was when she asked me if she could do a portrait of my face.

All I had to do was imagine that doe-eyed stare, forever boring into my eyes for however long it would take her to paint that picture and I refused. Of course, being the subtle sadist she is, she still did it (didn't even to try to hide it either. I caught her staring at least ten times that week). When she showed it to me, a crazy depiction of me in dark clothes biting into her neck, I almost screamed.

Somehow, Roxas found light in this depraved artistic soul. He even complimented the picture and after that their artist/poser relationship turned into one that involved dating (which I think was just an excuse for Namine to draw more pictures of him, but I digress).

Bloody brilliant. "Sorry about that. I should have known better to bring you here. We can talk somewhere else." I swallowed, trying hard not to stare at one very _expressive_ painting that should have been illegal to post in this school.

"No. This place is perfect actually." Roxas looked, I'm not kidding you, awed by this one painting depicting a street fight. It was such a contrast to the poorly hidden disgust screaming from my face. I guess Roxas has a higher appreciation for art given that he's a photographer.

I still don't see what the big deal is about splattering paper with colors, but Namine's work should not be receiving looks of awe. I sighed, fidgeting and focusing only on Roxas' face. "What? You saying Namine is a part of this too?"

Roxas shook his head in agreement, continuing to look around as he spoke. "Yeah. That's fairly common between two people in love. Generally, the time they have to see spirits is very limited but it's still strong. Even if she can't see me her lingering feelings can keep me trapped on Earth."

I wanted to spit at one of the paintings. "Hate to break this to you but she doesn't miss you at all."

He rolled his eyes. "You've always hated her."

"For a good reason! She's always manipulated you. Whether it be for her "artwork" or just to satisfy her sexual desires." I scowled, crossing my arms.

Roxas frowned. "We never had sex. Our relationship wasn't like that."

I snorted. "Why do you think she was so pissed off at you a month before you died? You obviously missed that side of the equation for her."

"Our arguments had nothing to do with that." He had his back to me now but from the way the muscles in his back tensed up I knew I had hit deep. "I just . . . I was trying to help her overcome other things . . . "

"You mean the drugs." I sighed, dropping my hands. "You know she was just using you, right? Surely now after all that time you spent in Castle Oblivion you recognize a druggie when you see one."

When he didn't say anything I continued. "No one ever looks closely at her to notice but since you had her around all the time I could see it. Remember the time I lost one of my cigarette packs? That was two days after she came over to visit and after that you wouldn't let her come over anymore."

"Vanitas . . . " He was rubbing his eyes, probably anticipating the point I was going to make.

I said it through gritted teeth. "You may want to believe the positive for me, but after meeting her you must have realized that I was going through the same thing too. You did everything you could to keep her away from that stuff but when it came to me you turned the other way." I swallowed and glared at the floor. "You abandoned me for her."

I heard the ruffling of paper before Roxas sighed. "Vanitas . . . she didn't steal that pack from you. I did."

My head snapped up and I opened my mouth to protest but he continued speaking. "I tried to help, really. But . . . I just didn't know how to do it without alienating you. I didn't want you to think I was being harsher with you because you were adopted. I tried to treat you as fairly as I could, without fighting, without the preconceived stereotypes that come with . . . well, kids in your circumstance." His eyes shifted everywhere but my face. "I guess in the end I came off as not caring when I wanted you to think the opposite. If I had been frank then maybe I could have saved both you and Namine. But . . . I can't help either of you now. So . . . "

He crossed his arms, giving me a no-nonsense look. "I want you to help her."

I blinked slowly. "What?"

"You promised you would help me. I think the final step is to save her. If we can get her to accept rehab . . . or even if we can get her to quit smoking for a few days, that would make me . . . I would feel at ease." He closed his eyes. "My biggest regret is that I couldn't stop your suffering and that I failed Namine as a boyfriend. Maybe hearing from someone who has gone through it will wake her up. You're the perfect person to talk to her about this."

_Wrong. I'm the worst._ "Roxas . . . "

He could see the thoughts in my face I'm sure because his expression was pleading. Desperate. "Please, that's all I'll ask of you. Just . . . talk to her, please."

I sighed. "I . . . I guess I can try." I swallowed, feeling my heartbeat pick up speed. "But I need to tell you something first."

Roxas blinked once then calmly placed his hands in front of his chest, tilting his head. "You do?"

"Yeah." I scratched at my neck again. "You see, I think I know which category I fit. You know, when you were talking about . . . the people who have this ability . . . " I coughed, shaking.

"Yeah?" He raised a single eyebrow at me. His incredulous expression didn't hide the brief shine of panic in his eyes.

"Yes." I opened my mouth, ready to let the statement I had been saying over and over in my head fly out in one burst. "I-"

I'm interrupted by the door behind me. It scratched at the floor, combined with the sound of flip flops that sent my muscles into a tense coil. I turned in time to see Namine's wide, blue eyes open in shock while the bucket of paint she was holding slammed into the ground. The red liquid gushed against her legs, trailing past my shoes along the floor. She wasn't looking at me though. Her wide, bloodshot eyes were stuck on my brother, stuck precariously in her composed, dull face that was now paler than her white shirt.

Before she could open her mouth to scream Roxas appeared in front of her and calmly placed his finger on her forehead. I could make out the whites of her eyes as she fell face first into the red paint, body curling in on itself like a random rag doll. I could hear a scream, hear a rattling inhumane wail that was too raspy to belong in Namine's fragile body. It took me a few seconds to realize that the scream was coming from me.

* * *

**Here we go! I actually had most of this drafted a few days ago but I had to wait for a few days anyway so that I could get used to the characters again after school took over my life this week.**

**Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoyed.**

**Justice T.**


	6. Two Killers

Two Killers

_Blood. I see blood._

_It's spreading on the ground, searing past my shoes. I'm standing in a sea of red and it's slowly taking me under._

_I shiver and stare at the gun in my hand. It's so small, so fragile looking in my pale hand. I always underestimated its power, I knew what it represented yet I took the power anyway. I was lost and weak. I took the power. I _needed_ the power._

_This power . . . to bring death to another . . . I knew what death was. How could I have been so stupid? So naïve? _

_No. This isn't happening. I drop the gun, drop it because it's not real. I didn't shoot it. I didn't see what I saw. _

_If I try really hard . . . maybe it will all go away. _

_The blood . . . it will go away._

_His face will go away._

_His faded eyes won't haunt me._

_No . . . just run away. I need to run away. _

_Just run. Need to run. Have to run._

_Run!_

"VANITAS!"

I gasped and flinched away from him. My mind was spinning from the uninvited memory and I pulled at my hair, lowering my gaze towards my legs. When I saw the red liquid staining my shoes I nearly fainted right on the spot. I felt like I was pushing lumps of coals out of my throat every time I took a breath. My stomach twisted precariously as the red paint continued to spread. It was too similar, too similar to before . . . to that time . . .

"Vani . . . you need to calm down." I felt his cold hand grip my shoulder and I closed my eyes. "It's just paint."

I gritted my teeth. "I know what it is, moron." I rubbed my forehead vigorously, trying to force the painful memories out of my head, push them back into that dingy corner of my brain so that I could function. I couldn't break down. I was going to tell him that day. No excuses.

Roxas sighed next to me before bringing a hand towards my face. He brought my face up so that it was level with his before pressing a finger against my forehead. Ordinarily, with such close contact I would have shoved him away, but the moment his hand touched my face this sense of . . . calm washed over me. The mixed feeling in my stomach disappeared and I let out a long sigh as the tension slowly drained away from the muscles in my back and arms. When I opened my eyes I could see Roxas smiling a few feet away. _When did he move away?_

"Feel better?" He said, still smiling.

"Uh . . . yeah." I didn't know what to say. I mean, there were obviously serious matters that had to be discussed and I was nowhere near complacent about helping out the psycho. But . . . it just wasn't pressing me the way it should. I didn't feel stressed at all, and that somehow felt wrong. I frowned. "What did you just do to me?"

Roxas shrugged then bent down to Namine's limp body and picked her up easily. She really did look small in his arms. With all that red paint smearing her white dress and face she looked more like a softer version of Carrie than anything else (yeah, it's a horror movie. Look it up). It was kind of nasty, actually. All that red meshed in wet, blonde strands matted at her forehead. Her eyes were closed, thankfully, but her arms were hanging out in such an unnatural position I almost thought they were broken (easy to forget the damn gothic is double jointed. Ick.).

All of this should of brought a look of disgust on my face. How could my brother casually hold her like that? But my only reaction was to blink twice before putting the bucket of paint in the corner of the room. After that I turned around, blinking again before crossing my arms. I almost didn't know how to move. I had never felt that at ease before in my entire life. "You're not expecting me to carry her, are you?" I said with a sigh.

Roxas shrugged. "Not unless you want people to see Namine floating."

I tilted my head. "You still haven't answered my question, Roxas. What did you do to her . . . what did you do to me?"

He mirrored my position, tilting his head in the same way and his mouth pressed into a firm line. "I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to see that." He gripped Namine tightly. "I have to be careful how I interact with the human world. I can't cause a panic . . . can't afford to make certain mistakes. I wouldn't have done anything to you, but then you screamed and . . . "

"Why do you keep avoiding the question?" I interrupted, meaning for my question to come out forceful but in my "peaceful" state I couldn't raise my voice above a few octaves.

"I'm not allowed," he said curtly and from the tone of his voice I knew if I asked again I would be heading into dangerous territory.

But I still kept pushing. "Not allowed? What the hell does that mean?" I stood in front of the door, blocking his exit. "I didn't know there was a code ghosts had to follow."

"We have our rules. The consequences are what differentiates us from humans. They're _eternal_." At "eternal" was when it changed. Roxas' face transformed into this gaunt, hollow looking pit of misery and desperation. His eyes looked so empty and holding up Namine the way he was, like she was his last hope from something worse than death, I . . . I looked away. "What's wrong?" He asked.

I swallowed. "Nothing." I grabbed Namine's body from him. "Let's just hurry up and find some place safe to talk, okay?"

There was a beat of silence before he grabbed Namine's hand, gingerly rubbing her skin with his thumb. "Lead the way," he said, voice almost a whisper.

* * *

Leaving school wasn't a challenge (Lord knows how many times I ditched). It was slightly annoying having to drag Namine around everywhere though. Every time I opened my mouth though to complain I would catch Roxas' pained expression (he had been spacing out a lot) and I would think better of it. No need to make things more arduous for him when this whole journey stems from what I did in the past.

Well, at least what I thought at the time.

Anyway, we reached a vacant park in under thirty minutes. I slowly lowered Namine to a bench, shaking slightly when she stirred. This wasn't going to be pleasant for her, I knew that based on the snippet of the reaction I got before Roxas . . . well, knocked her out. Her breathing was regular though, so all I can assume is that all he did was make her sleep. But . . . if that was all he did he wouldn't have had to hide it from me. Right?

Well, while I was thinking of all that in my head Roxas simply tapped Namine on the head and she sprung up so fast that her head ended up colliding with my stomach. A few gag-inducing seconds later I was close to knocking her out a second time but I dismissed it instantly when the resulting drama played out before me. "Holy-get away from me!" Namine's screech was mildly loud but that was instantly cut off when Roxas placed his hand over her mouth. Her eyes were turning into saucers and I watched as her hands came up to pull his hand off but the struggle was futile. He wasn't even moving and her body was literally putting up a fight but she couldn't get off the bench, even though realistically she should have been able to.

I don't know why watching her fight to escape bothered me so much. I freakin' hated her, yet . . . watching her fight with every bone in her body to move only one hand away . . . it was an awakening of sorts. Even though I acknowledged that Roxas was a ghost I hadn't thought of all the abilities that come with that. I mean, what's the limits to what a ghost can truly do? There are probably a number of dangerous things if they even have a law system. But laws can be broken, and throughout the last few days I had seen aspects of Roxas that I'd never known about when he was alive.

If he had that many secrets when he was human, what secrets is he holding now? A new sense of fear tugged at my heart and I had to fight not to run away from them (not that it would have helped. Roxas would catch me, but just because I knew that doesn't mean the impulse to run wasn't there. It's the common fight or flight response).

My anxiety grew higher and higher until Namine stopped, breathing heavily through Roxas' fingers and slamming her arms back against the bench in defeat. The fear in her eyes didn't leave though. She looked like one of the people in her paintings, face stuck in an expression that can't be explained for words. That's saying a lot considering that neutral poker face she wears all the time. I swallowed again and messed with my shirt collar.

Slowly, Roxas lowered his hand from her mouth and massaged Namine's shoulder gently. She stiffened on contact and when he spoke it was so soft, softer than any tone he had ever used with me. "Namine . . . it's me. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Please, relax."

Her eyes zeroed in on his face but besides that she didn't react. For someone who had been acting so ballistic a second ago, I had to grudgingly give respect where respect was do. No normal person could pull back a dull expression like that (even if her face was paler). I guess that's her way of coping. We all have our routines. She's probably better at shutting people out than I am.

Nevertheless, Roxas just stood there, holding her shoulder, waiting for her to respond and I knew she would eventually break. That's the thing about my brother. He's very persistent, and that's something pretty easy to overlook since he's always been the kind one. People dismiss his kindness, even see it as weakness (me included), but that made his true strength that much harder to see. I watched the realization come into Namine's eyes and finally her mask fell. Now it was a bitter look of . . . resignation? Resentment? I still couldn't read her face. Her response was characteristically specific. "Hello, Roxas."

I didn't know whether to clap or roll my eyes. Your dead boyfriend shows up, scares you shitless, and you come back with "Hi." Brilliant.

Roxas blinked, genuine surprise lighting up his face (typical, he misses his own strength just as easily as everyone else). "Hey," he said, tone a tad more casual yet still careful.

I watched Namine's throat move as she swallowed before she glanced at Roxas' hand. He swiftly removed it from her shoulder and then there was that awkward couple silence that made me want to strangle something. I cleared my throat (loudly) and crossed my arms over my chest. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Roxas frowned at me. His eyes were clearly saying, "Don't rush this," but I ignored it and sat next to Namine, putting my hands behind my head. "Look, I don't want to be here anymore than you do but I'm going to have to give a speech so if you cooperate then I promise this will be painless. Okay?"

Namine just stared at me. Rightly offended, I resisted the urge to slap her and turned to Roxas. He rubbed his eyebrows, as if he were fighting off a headache. "Forgive him, Namine. He's had a rough couple of days."

Namine let out this chuckle that almost scared me because of how _off_ it sounded. "I bet." She continued laughing and started rubbing her knees repeatedly with her hands. From the way her body shook I could tell that she was still freaked but at the same time . . . the more I watched the more her behavior seemed contradictory. In the span of a few minutes, Namine had accepted this drastic change in her life. How could she attempt to be so nonchalant? _She couldn't have really loved him_, I concluded in my head as I watched Roxas' eyes darken.

"Namine . . . " He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Do you know why I'm here?" he asked, copying her tone.

_Wait . . . what? _I glared at her. _Was he insinuating that she knew he was going to show up?_

Namine shrugged. "I've been waiting for a while." She stared back at Roxas and even if her body shook her eyes never left his face. I gawked, stuck halfway between brutal jealously and shock.

"You have?" He frowned. "That isn't healthy, Namine. I . . . I can't imagine how hard this might have been for you, but . . . you need to accept the fact that I'm gone. You need to focus on your own life. You need to work on making it better." Only a fool would have missed the desperation resonating in the last sentence.

Therefore, Namine's answering smile was unsettling. _Is this some twisted version of shock for her or something?_ At that moment I gave up on trying to decipher the motives behind her facial expressions and focused on sitting as far away from her as possible (that the bench would allow, anyway).

My brother was just as bewildered by her smile. "What?"

Namine shook her head slowly, biting her bottom lip. "Honestly, Roxas, this is just sad . . . " She sucked in a breath before leaning against the bench, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. "You really have no idea, huh?"

"You . . . you're not making sense." Roxas' face was guarded now but I could see his bottom lip trembling. I didn't waste much time looking at him though. Namine had my full attention now.

"Rox . . . I've been waiting for my life to end." Her smile widened but her eyes had a strange vacant look to them, like she was spacing out. "You can't fix me up, no one can. I'm marked now . . . and it's only a matter of time before it's all over."

"Marked?" I repeated skeptically.

Namine shrugged, still not looking away from Roxas' face. "So, are you going to kill me now?"

"No," he said quietly with reproach. It was as if someone was asking him to activate a bomb.

"Why not?" Her whole face was marred by her deep frown. Throughout this weird conversation I was slowly starting to understand why Namine tried to hide her emotions. You can literally see the muscles moving, see the set of her eyebrows shift, forming indents and lines in her skin. In translation, it just reveals how messed up she is inside. When her mouth moved into a scowl I had to start popping my knuckles in order to maintain my sanity.

I'm sitting between two unpredictable beings. A lover's quarrel is one thing, but between these two people?

. . . fuck.

Roxas' face was morphing too. I couldn't recall ever seeing him look so angry before in my entire life. His hands went out and he pushed Namine into the bench, hard. I thought I heard something crack as my eyes widened in unison with Namine's. If he had been alive I know his face would have been red, but with his blue skin the only outlet for his anger was pouring out of his eyes and the rigid set of his jaw. "Do you even understand what you're asking me? Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Namine closed her eyes. "Stop holding back . . . stop acting like you don't know . . . " She winced as his fingers dug into her shoulders.

"No. I don't know." He growled. "So why don't you enlighten me." There was a dangerous edge to his voice that almost hid his desperation. Almost.

_No. This couldn't . . . she couldn't mean . . ._ "Rox, your hands . . . " I didn't want to outright accuse him of hurting her, but from the red seeping through his fingers I felt obligated to remind him. The inhuman glare I got in response shut me up. Despite that, I stared back at him. After a few seconds he looked a little calmer but there was still a lingering sense of panic that he forgot to shield from us.

Roxas sighed then loosened his hold. "Answer me, Namine."

She blinked. "Do I really have to say it? How could you not know?!"

"Why do you think I'm here?!" He looked almost hurt. "I don't know, okay?! I never knew! I've been stuck for two years trying to figure this out! Being dead hasn't revealed any secrets for me. I'm just as lost as I was when I was alive, alright?! If you know something just say it!"

A single tear slid down her face but when she spoke her statement held no remorse. "I killed you." One sentence said from the pits of her soul, a dark proclamation uttered in complete apathy.

Heat flared in my chest and I gritted my teeth to keep from bashing my fist through her puny forehead. I held myself back. I had to see his response, I had to see how Roxas would handle this . . . this blatant lie. It had to be a lie. There was no way . . .

I swallowed and looked at his face. His mouth was hanging open and he was staring at Namine as if she had two heads. I could see the shock in his eyes transcending into anger, then desperation, then shock again. "W-what? You can't . . . you weren't there."

Namine sighed, pulling her legs up towards her chest, hugging her knees. "I sold you out. That _request_ you received from my pharmacist to get the medicine? It was a set up. It was fake." Her eyes weren't pleading, weren't understanding. When you looked into her eyes all you saw was acceptance. "I willingly sent you to death's door."

Roxas took a step back from her, shaking his head. His bottom lip was trembling again and his hands were clenched into fists. "Namine . . . I . . . this doesn't make any sense." He slowly raised his hands to his chest, slowly letting his fingers travel past his faded bullet wounds. "This doesn't make any sense at all."

"You need to stop deluding yourself. You always wanted to embrace the brightest side of everything . . . of _everyone_." Namine's voice was firm, almost parental. "But no one can survive ignoring the dark side of life, Roxas. You believed you could get me off the drugs, you thought you could save me." She laughed again, slipping her hand into the crook of her dress sleeve, pulling out a cigarette. "I was far gone before I even met you. When my supplies ran low I had no where else to turn but to the source. I found a way to get a hold of one of the carriers . . . they wanted you dead for some reason, so . . . " she shrugged, before pulling out a match from her opposite dress sleeve, setting it aflame with a practice motion against the bench.

Now my mouth was hanging open. I hadn't stopped to consider why Roxas had been in Castle Oblivion that day . . . it had been such a random occurrence to me. But . . . to hear that his presence had been planned. I tasted bile in my throat but anger was the strongest force present. What did she have to excuse her actions? She wanted to get high, that was all. It's one thing when the death of a loved one falls on your shoulders, but to realize that half of the fault lies with an outsider, a freak that never fully cared in the first place?

Everything happened in slow motion. Her lips parted as the air from her mouth took out the match. I saw her hands tense as she brought the cancer stick up to her mouth. When she inhaled I felt a chill run down my back, and my I went rigid. I blinked and shivered, raising my arms to shield my chest even though I had a jacket on. The cold bit into my face and I watched as my breath entered the air in warm clouds, obscuring my vision. When it cleared I realized that most of the clouds had been from Namine exhaling.

I avoided looking at Roxas directly. I turned my back towards him, stepping in between him and Namine. She blinked at me, giving me her trademark dull stare that she had used all her life. When she was about to take another drag I reeled my hand back and sent my fist sailing towards her face. It didn't connect. Instead, my fist was shaking in Roxas' palm (like stuffing it against a freezer). Since I had been standing close to Namine, when Roxas appeared in front of me rapidly his body was half phased with hers. Up this close I could see through his chest to Namine's face. Her mouth was hanging open and I saw the cigarette in her hand disintegrate where Roxas's waist should have been.

Ignoring both of our reactions, Roxas fully pushed my hand back, looking me straight in the eye. He blinked once and I watched as a single tear fell down his right cheek. It looked weird against his blue skin. He took a deep breath and gripped my shoulders. "Vanitas . . . go home."

I swallowed. "You're still going to protect this bitch?" I said coldly, rubbing heat back into my hand.

He didn't even flinch at my cursing. He just blinked once, speaking very slowly. "Go home. Now."

"Rox . . . I'm not leaving you with her." I barely got the sentence out before my body went flying in the air. I landed a few feet away on my butt. I cursed out of shock, getting up quickly. All this happened and Roxas hadn't even laid a finger on me.

"You don't want to see this, Vanitas." His back was turned to me now and he wasn't phasing through anything so his body appeared solid. I couldn't see Namine anymore. "Please, don't make me force you."

I sighed. "Fine." I shook my hand out. It was still freezing. "When will you be back?"

I watched as the muscles in his back tensed up and he turned around. His eyes were now a dull red, almost orange, and there was blood dripping down the sides of his cheeks in place of tears. He gave me a bitter smile. "You're going to have to run now if you want to make it in time. Whatever you do, don't look back."

I took a step back. "Roxas . . . you need to know . . . "

The blood tears rushed faster out of his eyes and there was more leaking from his bullet wounds. "RUN NOW!"

I obeyed this time. I forced my legs into a sprint, forced my body to get away. It didn't stop the chill, didn't stop the cold reaching its sharp nails into my spine, my chest, my heart . . .

_She's going to die._ Those were my last thoughts before my head throbbed insistently and I fell to the ground, clutching my hair as the pain shot through me along with the faint notes of a faraway scream.

* * *

**Hmmmm, definitely longer than I had planned but it needed to be done.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed reading.**

**Justice T.**


	7. The Truth won't set Me Free

The Truth won't set Me Free

One minute you hear horrid, wretched screams. Screams that make your hair stand on end. Sounds that tear most grown men to shreds.

It's your entire world, that's all you know.

Bleak picture, ain't it?

Now, imagine waking up the next second with sore legs and arms, a kink in your neck, and the TV directly across from you blasting your ears away with its speakers (something about the news, perhaps). You look around, bewildered and nervous because you don't remember falling asleep on the living room couch. Better yet, you don't remember coming back home, unlocking the front door, crashing on the couch. You don't remember anything except for the screams.

Get it? Do I even have to explain what happened when I woke up? No? Perfect.

So, as I implied earlier, at this moment I'm feeling like crap. I can barely lift my arms while my legs burn from the agitation of previous movements. It's both frustrating and frightening. I'm not really known for my running skills, but a short sprint from the park to home shouldn't have weighed me down that bad. Either I was in worse shape than I previously imagined or something else happened that I had forgotten in my recent coma-like nap.

The memories drifted sluggishly into my conscious mind as I slowly walked into the kitchen. It was almost four so I knew my parents wouldn't be back for a few hours. I submitted to the silence, mulling over what happened as I sat at the table. Everything seemed colder than normal, the smooth surface of the table, the hard chair cushioning my ass. I gritted my teeth and roughly rubbed my palms together, warily staring at the front door. The longer I stared at it the more dread pooled into my chest, threatening my sensitive stomach.

_Pull yourself together, dammit!_ I breathed in deeply and set my arms on the table, laying my head against them before shifting my eyes over to the clock. I had been asleep for at least an hour since we had left school with Namine early. I shivered. Just saying her name in my head made my stomach ache. She had to have been severely punished. What better punishment for a killer than death?

_But she didn't pull the trigger. You did._

I covered my eyes and let out something half between a grunt and a moan. Deep shit. There was no other way to describe it. Surprisingly, I wasn't really _surprised_ at the idea that death would come to me this way. I had always felt guilty, there was always a part of me that was waiting for it. I couldn't pull it off like Namine though. Death was (and still is) a scary concept for me.

Before you all start rolling your eyes think about it for a moment. Death is at the root of all we fear. We strive to find purpose in our lives, in our futures because it's the only consolation we can grasp until death inevitably reaches us. It's another thing all together when you _know_ your death is coming, when you see its fingers crawling towards you. All you can do is stand still and wait for it to happen.

Say what you want, I'm naturally impatient. I scrunched up my face and hardened my soul, ready to give myself up, ready to tell the truth and be damned already.

And wouldn't you know it, the moment I sat up straight Roxas was sitting across from me, staring at me as if he were expecting me to spill out all my secrets at once. I resisted the urge to clap and blinked once in his direction. "I see you're finally back," I said, voice the perfect epitome of calm.

He shrugged, looking away from my face and towards the cabinets. "I was already here. I was just waiting for you to wake up."

That unnerved me more than it should. "I didn't see you." I frowned.

"I said I was here. I didn't say I was visible." Roxas sighed, rubbing his elbows. "Listen, about what happened earlier . . . "

"I know how much she meant to you. You don't have to explain anything, okay?" I fought myself to make sure my eyes didn't move away from his face. "You can just let her rest in peace."

Roxas raised a single eyebrow and I could have sworn there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. "She's not dead."

"What?" My stomach did a few flips as my mouth opened up in a shameless 'O' shape.

He looked offended now. "Excuse me? What do you think I am?"

"How could you not kill her?" I was just as mad. "Did you not hear a word she said? She committed the ultimate act of betrayal!"

"You think I don't know that?!" He slammed his hands into the table, leaning close enough to make me back away. "I already told you we have a freakin' code! I can't just do whatever the heck I want, Vanitas! If you honestly think I would murder just for the sake of revenge then you don't know anything about me."

I rolled my eyes. "It would be helpful if I knew what some of those rules were, you know, so you don't scare the shit out of me every time you fucking mess up."

Roxas blinked once at me then slowly stood up, brusquely walking around the table and standing beside me with his arms crossed. In the back of my head I realized that he could have just walked through the table. Hell, he could have even teleported in front of me. Less work for sure. But he was specifically walking over to me to make me feel comfortable, despite all the cursing and insults I had pelting him with without remorse.

The guilt instantly subsided the moment his hand connected with my shoulder. All I could make out was my heartbeat hammering faster with every second his hand stayed on my shoulder. I looked up at his face, taking in the firm set to his lips and his dull eyes. Before I could confess in one shameless display of desperation, he sighed and surprised me for the third time that day with one uncharacteristic question. "Do you know where Dad keeps the liquor?"

Hah . . . you know that moment in life where the world seems even more cruel and messed up than the sugarcoated childish haven you cling to even in your teen years? Yeah, that moment. "Where Dad keeps the _what_?" I spat, seriously considering slamming my head against the table to knock myself out.

"Look, if I'm going to be telling you all this junk that really doesn't concern you anyway, I might as well get drunk. Trust me, it's easier that way." He walked past me, rummaging through some of the lower cabinets. "You'd think he'd change his hiding spot after we found it."

"If you knew where it was why did you even ask?!" I stood up from the table, pinching my arm to make sure what I was seeing was actually happening. "Come on, do you know what he'll do if he notices a bottle missing?"

Roxas turned towards me, nimbly swinging one of the bottles in his hand. I kept expecting him to accidentally bash it against the counter. "You're starting to sound like me," He said before getting a cup.

I slapped myself. "Because I'm going to be the one punished if this gets out of hand. Dad already thinks I'm a screw up."

"If that's the case then I don't think this is going to alter his view that much." He drained his cup in a manner of seconds, making a face. "Besides, he has another secret stash in his room. He's not going to notice if one bottle is gone."

"Hmmm, I'm afraid to ask."

"Discovered it on accident while I was working on a photographic project in his room." He shrugged before pouring himself another glass. "He made me promise me not to tell you."

"Right . . . " I licked my lips, eyeing the bottle. I had only tried champagne once. It was a pretty . . . horrid experience. I don't have a high tolerance level for the stuff, and the fact that I hadn't eaten anything with it only made the outcome worse. But . . . if I paced myself then maybe I could handle it. I figured that it would be easier telling him the truth that way versus not telling him at all. Plus, he may take it better in that state . . . depending on how high he is by the end of this.

When he finished his third cup I decided it was worth a shot (laugh if you want). "I guess he won't miss two bottles."

* * *

"No, no, he was saying that if you catch the light at the right angle then you get this effect. See?"

"I don't see anything . . . unless you're talking about the red eyes. Those are very noticeable!"

"For the love of-can you cut me some slack?! That was my first time trying the technique!"

"Yeah, keyword being 'trying'."

"Oh, so now you're an expert photographer? Well . . . I call bullshit on that." He jammed his finger directly into my chest.

It was one of many habits Roxas had acquired whenever he was speaking passionately about something. He didn't stop poking until my Dad had a special talk with him about personal space and the like. Of course, that didn't stop him around me whenever he was scolding. Generally, I would get mad and start trying to catch his hand in the middle of the gesture so that I could bend his finger back, but I didn't trust my instincts. The last time I tried swiping at his hand I ended up on the floor somehow.

But it didn't really matter because I found the whole thing hilarious for some reason. "You're just jealous because you can't achieve the 'perfect shot' according to this . . . this . . . " I waved my hands around, "Damn artist. Why is his name so hard to pronounce?"

Roxas huffed before slamming the book closed. "That is just offensive."

"It's a reasonable complaint. If you pick a shitty name expect people to make fun of you or mess it up to your face."

"It's not that bad!"

"Then say it."

Roxas gave me this look that basically said I was stupid. Then he tried to say the name but the only sound that came out was a loud belch. I looked away, laughing so hard that I almost fell off the couch a second time (or was it a third time?). "That doesn't count!" Roxas pushed me down and I simply curled into a ball, still chortling. "You're such an asshole."

"You-you just found that out now?" I nearly went into another laughing fit before his foot connected with my ribs. I coughed roughly, rolling away as far as I could from him. "Dammit! That actually hurt . . . "

"Oh, shut up! You really are a dick, you know. I've heard what people say about you at school and they have a point. You really have no respect for what anyone else likes." Roxas crossed his arms. "But why is it that you hate what I like the most? You always talk about wanting to tear down Namine's paintings but you never actually tried to destroy her work, unlike the five scrapbooks I lost thanks to you!"

I slowly sat up, rubbing my stomach. "The hell? That was six years ago. How the hell was I supposed to know it meant that much to you?"

"Because I talk about it all the time! What, does _this_ make it clear?!" From somewhere he pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of me. The flash was very bright so it was hard for me to move for a few seconds.

I shook my head and covered my eyes with my arm. "Do you want me to go blind?"

"Fuck you. I've never met any damn person so scared of taking pictures in my life. Even Namine could hold a better pose."

"Seriously? Could we stop talking about her?" I snatched the camera from him, skimming through the pictures. "You should just delete these."

Roxas rolled his eyes. "You say that _every_ time."

"Yeah, but I'm covering my face. You wanted to capture my eyes, right? Mark my differences out to everyone in the world, right?" I nearly slammed the camera against the table. "Well, don't bother! Everyone knows I'm different! I'm the foreign one, I'm the adopted outcast! No need to display it, okay? I'm tired of you putting out those stupid family photos. I'm tired of being _your_ charity case!"

It was like I had punched him in the gut. He covered his chest where his heart was, giving me this wide-eyed stare that showed nothing but confusion and pain. But I wasn't having it. He wasn't as innocent as he had everyone to believe. He couldn't have showed me off _solely_ for the fact that he loved me that much.

My thoughts continued to swim around in an angry haze and I contemplated crushing the camera with my bare hands. Before I could complete the task I started going through every photo in the camera so that I could erase the ones he took of me. Unfortunately, in my haste I set the camera to show the oldest pictures and I gasped as I looked into Namine's frightened face. "What the . . . you . . . you brought this to the park?!"

When he didn't answer I just kept flipping through the photos. I could see the part where I had stood in front of Namine at the bench, when I turned around to try to punch her. I kept skipping and stopped on a photo of Namine crouching on the ground, body splattered in blood. Her eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them, dull grey and bloodshot. Her mouth was opened wide and out of the left hand corner I saw a different hand pointing at her.

The next picture was where I spent most of my time staring because I didn't understand it. Roxas was in the picture next to Namine, except he was using one of his hands to keep her pinned to the ground while his other hand was covering her mouth. It almost looked like he was forcing her to eat something, but the main thing I was concerned with was the person who had taken the picture in the first place.

Before I could break down from the insanity of it all Roxas took the camera back. I blinked at my empty hands before looking up at him, shaking. "You . . . you didn't have the camera with you that day. I never heard a flash. You couldn't have . . . " I swallowed slowly before backing away from him. I made it to the entrance of the living room before I felt an invisible force press into my back. I jumped away from the hallway, gasping. "What are you doing now?!"

"You were the one who wanted to talk about the rules . . . or code as we call it." Roxas sat back down, patting the spot next to him.

I inched away from the entrance before standing next to the television. "I'd rather stand."

"Fine then. Well, basically, there are three main rules we have to follow." He lifted his hand, holding up three fingers. "We can't kill anybody, we can't go inside a human's body and control them, and lastly we can't . . . uh . . . we can't cause a panic."

"That's it? Pfft, what kind of idiot would break rules like that? They're easy."

Roxas shrugged. "I did. The second one, if you wanted to know." He smiled.

My jaw dropped. "You never break the rules though!"

"Judging, judging, judging! Am I forever going to be under your scrutiny for something?! What did you expect? Why do you think we're on a time limit right now?"

"Right, like that helps your case. I'm beginning to think you're not even my real brother."

"Very funny. You try lingering around for months lost in a city you don't know. I didn't even control the dude, I just went inside his head to see how I could get out of Castle Oblivion. That place is a fucking maze!" He rubbed his eyes. "Shit . . . couldn't even think straight there. Everyone was on something, in fact, you didn't even have to be on something! The air quality there is so bad you might as well be getting high off oxygen."

"Well, that's what you get for listening to your girlfriend. Come on, everyone knows not to go to that place. Especially during a freakin gang war!" I wanted to slap him now. "You just had to be the idiot that gets lost in the middle of the most heated, contested battleground ever known to man there! Nice way to play towards your blonde traits there."

"There was a gang war?" He tilted his head. "I thought the police shut them down."

"The police can't do jack. You still should have known that territory was forbidden!" It was getting harder to speak, but I kept up the rant.

"You seem to know a lot about it," Roxas muttered, tone perfectly sober.

"Cause I was in it," I said. "What did you expect?"

"A gang? Really? You're better than that."

"Huh? What was that? What did you say?" I walked towards him, pointing my finger at his chest. "Don't start saying crap for the hell of it."

"But you are!" He pushed me back. "You are and you know it!"

"No! I don't . . . or at least I didn't back then, okay?" My bottom lip trembled as I fought to keep the moisture in my eyes from spilling over. "You might not have seen it that way, you may have never even thought it, but I didn't know! I thought I was worth shit! Somewhere, somewhere deep down I didn't think I was worth _anything_, okay? I. Was. Nothing."

His eyes opened wide and I watched the gears turn in his head. "No . . . "

I swallowed and ignored him. "The Crypts. That's what they were called. They took me in that time I ran off for three weeks without telling you guys. I joined them then." I started unbuttoning my shirt. "They were brutal, violent, and full of bloodlust . . . but for me they were my _real_ family. Or at least I saw them that way at the time." I pulled my shirt off, pointing to an X-shaped scar on the lower left half of my stomach. "See? This is my initiation mark."

"Vanitas . . . "

I held up a hand. "Stop. You have no idea what I was going through. I didn't even know . . . " I rubbed my wrists and lowered my head so that I wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "In all the chaos and drug dealing crap . . . all I knew for sure was that I hated you. I didn't understand your passions, your dreams, your . . . your personality. You were always too fucking kind and too smart except where it counts . . . I don't know, maybe just the fact that you were happy bugged me."

When he didn't say anything I continued in a rush. "I just felt miserable . . . I felt like no one understood what I was going through. I just . . . I hated that feeling." I started scratching at my scar. "Then, my boss . . . he heard me complaining about you one time and . . . I don't know, one of the other members was supposed to help me get over it because I was taking out my anger on everyone else. He told me the only way I would feel better was if I just . . . did something about it. If . . . if I . . . " I paused, noticing the shift in the air. It was really cold. "We . . . we were always fighting with the other gang, the . . . the Organization. I don't know much about them except that they always got in the boss's way. We were at a stalemate when you showed up in the middle of the street . . . I didn't recognize you at first. I was . . . high on something . . . "

I started rubbing my palms together as it got colder, then picked up my shirt before immediately dropping it when I realized it was even colder than the chills I was getting bare-chested. "So . . . I just saw you walking around. I honestly didn't think you were there. I mean, a part of me knew . . . but it was really too much of a shock. Seeing you among the gangs . . . it's just not you. Nothing there fits you. As you looked around with that nervous look of yours . . . I freaked. I felt like I was going to go crazy. And . . . then one of the members started talking, making me mad and . . . then I lifted the gun in my hand . . . "

_Say it. _My hands clenched into fists and I raised my head, looking him in the eye at last. "I shot you."

Those three words had held so much weight. Sure, I hadn't used the word "kill", but I still acknowledged what I had done. Slowly, the tension in my body disappeared, replaced by a new, more powerful emotion. Shivering, I forced myself to put on my shirt, though it made me feel worse. As I focused on his face, and I mean _really_ focused, I vaguely recalled what he said about how his appearance changes based on my perception of him.

It some ways, it wasn't as bad as I imagined. His skin was already a pale blue color and his expression was distraught. As usual, his eyes are what surprised me the most. A vivid, electrifying blue frozen in shock, pupils diluted, and underneath his eyes his skin appeared darker than the rest of his face. It didn't match up with the furious, rage-filled image I had built in my head countless times when I had rehearsed this speech. I realized then that most of the fear I had been experiencing was due to my own mind, my own expectations, not what Roxas had actually done (though, given what had happened to Namine I was more wary than say . . . a day ago).

What made it seem wrong? What was it about his facial expression that rubbed me the wrong way? I actually took a step towards him so I could get a better look but then he stepped back and all I could do was watch the panic fill up his eyes. _Is he scared of me?_ "Roxas?" My voice sounded hoarse to my ears. All the shouting had torn my throat to shreds.

He kept backing away, shaking his head as he moved further away. "H-how could you do this? Why would you _lie_?" I could barely hear him, he was almost whispering.

"No, no I'm telling you the truth." I lowered my hand and tried to stay still. "Roxas . . . I wouldn't lie to you about this."

I don't think he heard me. He just kept shaking his head, closing his eyes and twisting his hands into his hair. "You're wrong. You're wrong . . . " His voice cracked at the end of his sentence and then he just stood there for a while, staring at nothing in particular, pulling at his hair.

I squirmed after the fifth minute and messed with my fingers. "This . . . it's all hard. It's all really hard for you. I know I'll never fully understand what you're going through right now." I swallowed. "But you needed to know the truth. You don't need to wander around anymore. You don't need to search anymore. I'm your killer . . . so the time limit shouldn't matter now, right?"

His head snapped in my direction, eyes narrowed in deadly slits. "It's not that simple, Vanitas."

"Yes, it is. You've found me." I closed my eyes. "And I'm ready to accept my punishment."

"The hell you know." He growled.

"Then tell me!" I was surprised by how desperate I sounded. "Help me understand . . . please."

"Shut up!" His voice bounced against the walls, zeroing in on me with such force that I had to cover my ears. "You don't know what you're saying! You don't know what this means! I have no choice but to . . . to . . . " His eyes widened even more. "No . . . "

"Do what? You'll have to do what?" I stepped towards him.

"No, I won't do it!" He looked crazed, the face of someone who had seen a massacre.

"Rox . . . if Namine led you to your death, why is it such a surprise that I was a part of it?" I tilted my head. "Why does that bother you more?"

The questions seemed to push him into a corner. "I . . . I don't . . . "

I frowned. "You didn't hold back when Namine revealed the truth. Don't cut me any slack. She may have sold you out, but I'm the one who marked you." I pointed to his bullet wounds. "Roxas, I _did_ this."

He cringed away from my hand, eyes locked with my fingers. Then he touched his wounds, shuddered, then turned around. "Stop, just stop. I need . . . I have to take this in."

"Right." I forced my feet to move away, to push myself up the stairs despite the numbing cold messing with my joints. I almost went back, to do what I don't know. But I felt like I had missed something, like I had been on the threshold of revealing something important before he shut me out. What did I forget?

I leaned against the door to my room, closing it, before sinking down to the floor and sitting in a restless heap. I knew only one thing for sure. The truth didn't seem to set us free . . . it only changed things to the point where I nearly considered my brother to be a stranger. Or was he? I never truly knew him as well as I could have, did I? He obviously didn't know me as well as he thought. Did we both create our own versions of each other? Are we disappointing each other now? Or were our self illusions exaggerated by the alcohol?

I sighed and thought of these questions, contemplating over each scenario over and over again before I fell into the merciless pit of sleep.

* * *

**So . . . apparently some people were confused about Roxas' range of abilities as a ghost. I hope this sort of clears up some of those questions although I bet now you probably have a couple more. They will be revealed by the end of the story, trust me. I don't like leaving loopholes, believe me. Everything pretty much has a purpose. The only thing that really changes from my original conception is usually the setting, but I digress.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Happy Halloween!**

**Justice T.**


	8. A Day in Hell

A Day in Hell

I blinked once, stared out the window, then realized that I had slept the rest of the day away. "Shit . . . " I muttered, just to say it out loud, because I felt awful. Thirty pounds was weighing down my shoulders while my feet slid against the floor, an unforgiving sense of foundation that deteriorated the moment I tried to stand up. I fell to the floor, shaking badly.

_I don't want to get up. I should just die here. Yes, I'll just stay here in my room until I . . ._

I sat up sharply and slapped myself. Hard. The violent hit forced my mind into consciousness and I sighed before rubbing my hands roughly against my knees. "Can't back out now. You made your choice. You need to face him now." Pressing my hands against the floor, I slowly stood up, staring directly at the mirror across from my bed. My body was a little paler than normal, almost gaunt.

_Did I even eat anything yesterday?_ I frowned, walking closer to the mirror. As I'm sure I stated before, I was never a heavy eater. My parents usually had to beg me to finish my food when I was younger. It wasn't that I didn't like it, I just wasn't really hungry. With that in mind, it still takes a lot for me to skip a whole day.

I sighed, turning away from the mirror and pushed my front door open. Each step I took downstairs felt like walking a straight mile. I was exhausted by the time I reached the bottom step as my stomach churned painfully. My mouth formed a scowl as the rumbling in my chest rose.

"Pretty late to be getting up, don't you think?"

I froze, using my peripheral vision to see who was in the living room. My father stared calmly in my direction and I felt like my stomach was going to explode, spewing my anxious contents all over the kitchen tiles. I swallowed away my grimace, staring back at him with what I'm sure was a deer-in-headlights expression. He blinked once, almost smirking at me. "Sheesh, what's got you all worked up?"

I quickly glanced at the living room table. There weren't any bottles in sight. "Uh . . . " I stuttered, then frowned. I never stutter.

"It's one in the morning, son. You have school tomorrow, don't ya? Now go back up those steps." He gave a single nod towards the stairs. Pfft, like I don't know where they are.

Irritation leaked into my tense core and I resisted the urge to sneer at him. "I'm hungry," I said through tight lips.

With my attitude switch I saw my dad transform from an easygoing goofball to the cynical, exhausted man he had been ever since Roxas' death. "Hunger pains?"

I looked away from him. "Yeah . . . "

He sighed. "Well, I guess you better eat something then." He turned back toward the TV, staring into a black screen. "You should sleep afterwards though. It's one in the morning."

_Then what are you doing up, old man?_ "Right." I winced briefly, rubbing at my forehead as a sharp, jutting force struck my head from within. I bit into my lip to keep myself from making a sound. My hands started shaking and I quickly pulled the fridge open, searching for anything edible. My eyes caught a slab of cheese and I reached into the fridge to get it, wincing at how cold my arm felt. It reminded me of . . . of him. _Roxas._ I shook my head, almost slamming the fridge shut, breathing in deeply. After a good five seconds I was able to pull the cheese out.

Once I had the cheese I searched for the meat and bread, gripping them as if they would be my last meal. I set to work making a sandwich, trying to ignore how my stomach screamed for me to just stuff my face. My head continued to pound, like a hammer hitting the back of my skull repeatedly. _Damn hangovers, damn hunger!_ There was a sense of panic in my movements now, and I started working fast, too fast, cutting where it didn't make sense. Soon the temptation became too much and I started pushing as much food as possible into my mouth. I ate like a madman, swallowing and chewing away at my own stress from within, trying to push away all unpleasant thoughts. My hands started shaking again but I still kept shoving in more and more.

"Vanitas? Vanitas!" I felt strong hands grip my wrist, forcing my hands towards my sides. I struggled, swallowing quickly but that proved to be a bad idea as something went down the wrong pipe. I coughed roughly, letting out a moan that sounded so off I had to pause for a second because I almost thought someone else was in the room. I barely noticed when my dad led me to the couch, ordering me to lay on my side. I shivered once my head met the rugged cushions. The headache just kept getting worse.

I opened my eyes slowly, seeing a pair of bottles sitting idly by the TV. _God, he knew. He fuckin knew._ "Dad . . . ?"

"Shhh, you need to sleep."

"No, no . . . " It hurt to move but I used up as much strength as I could to point to the bottles. "Dad, I . . . I didn't mean to . . . I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything, just maneuvered my hand back to where it had been and started stroking my back. I wanted to tell him to stop, tell him I didn't deserve it because the evidence was right there by the TV. Stop caring, stop treating me like I didn't do anything! I wanted to say that, but as he stroked my back my body grew heavy and even though the headache persisted it wasn't bothering me the same way it had before.

"Dad . . . no . . . "

"It's okay." He sat next to me. "As hard as this might be for you to believe, I understand. We . . . " I watched his jaw clench, as if what he was about to say would change some insurmountable wall between us. A statement that would shatter all misconceptions. "We all miss him."

I closed my eyes, ignoring my stomach and trying to sink deeper into the couch, wishing with all my strength that I could just sink into the ground and escape his stroking hands. I didn't want this, I didn't need his grief. "I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . "

_I'm sorry I took him from you._

* * *

The next day I woke up to the smell of oatmeal and biscuits. The aroma sent my stomach into an uproar, violently reminding me of how I neglected to satisfy it the night before. My eyes instantly zeroed over towards the TV. The bottles weren't there anymore.

"Come on, Vanitas. Your food is getting cold." I turned my head, catching my mother's timid smile. I hadn't forgotten the significance of that name, of the fact that she refused to use her nickname for me.

_No, not her nickname. Roxas came up with it_. I sighed and sat at the table, wrinkling my nose at the porridge. "Thanks," was all I could say before digging in, trying not to rush. No sense in eating fast if it causes me to throw up half of it later. I could still feel the headache lingering. It would probably be a couple more hours before I returned to normal.

_At least you have the luxury of thinking that way. What about Roxas? He's dead, he doesn't even have a body to worry for._

"I already know that," I said, growling at my food.

"Pardon?" She raised an eyebrow at my plate. I quickly backtracked.

"It's nothing." _Except the fact that you can't hide your guilt now. She deserves to know who took her son away from her. _

_You're just a stand in, you've always known. No matter how good you are now, it's not the same as having him here. You're not him._ "I don't have to be," I mumbled into my food. "I haven't given them a hard time."

_Not true. Mom always worries, you never helped her get over her grief. She was left to be ignored. And Dad? Why do you think he keeps those bottles? Why do you think he wasn't mad at you for using up his secret stash earlier? How do you think he's been coping? _"I'm not perfect, what was I supposed to do?"

_Tell the truth. Tell them what you did to their _true_ son._

"Vanitas, who are you-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

The string of silence was broken as she dropped the bowl she was holding. I watched the food spill all over the floor in a massive, sizzling paste-like spread. Her mouth parted open, eliciting a short gasp that sounded like a sob. I stood up quickly, nearly knocking over my food. "I . . . I need to go." Without sparing her another glance I grabbed my backpack and ran out of the house as fast as I could, wiping at my eyes with each pounding step.

* * *

School passed by in a haze. It was strange, walking down the hallways, seeing numerous groups of people and massive crowds. The irritation that usually accompanied these circumstances was replaced by bitterness and frequent paranoia. I found myself flinching more and as the day went on with no sign of Roxas a slurry of dangerous thoughts started forming. By lunch time the thoughts had turned into full blown operations, hasty ideas that chilled me to the bone.

So wrong yet . . . deliciously tempting. It would have been so easy to end it then. The possibility seemed more _right_ the longer I thought about it. If he wasn't going to come back, then I would have to punish myself somehow. _Not like I have anything better to do._ For fifteen minutes I felt like my new path of action was sealed.

Or at least, it was until I saw Namine. I had been standing around my locker, sort of staring at it and willing it in my mind to open for me because some people (ahem, me) lacked the patience to deal with crap like the convoluted circle-locks we were forced to buy. When my locker failed to open I imagined bashing it in with a crowbar before a startled gasp reached my ears.

I turned around and met a set of dull, shattered eyes. Three lockers away, she stood tense against mini-cells with an unreadable expression. I watched as her eyes zeroed in on me and then around me, searching frantically. I forced myself to remain calm and not hit her. "He's not here if that's what you're wondering."

Her eyes paused on my face and then she laughed. No, I mean she _really_ laughed, laughed hard enough that tears came into her eyes. I backed away as she started coughing, face twisting into a look of pain. She shook her head before opening her locker with stiff fingers, eyes still dancing warily around the area.

_It's like she doesn't want to get caught or something._ I took in her body, seeing how frail her features had become and how her hair had transformed from a platinum blonde to a measly dirty-blonde with the edges singed in brown. Her school outfit was unkept and I could see some buttons missing from her shirt cuffs and collar. She bit into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood before her locker swung open sharply, crashing hard enough into the next locker to leave a dent.

I felt my jaw drop open as the contents in her locker exploded. Cigarettes raced out of there like confetti, rolling all over the floors and crashing into my feet and the lockers behind me. I stared at them on the ground in horror. "What in hell . . . ?"

She slammed her locker, cutting off my poor attempt at a question. "Huh . . . you can see them?" She turned around, pulling out a set of matches from the front pocket of her backpack. With a flick of her wrist she easily set one on fire before reaching down to pick up one of the cancer sticks. "So, what did you do?"

"What?"

She blew out a puff of air, giving me a cruel smirk. "You know, what did you do to him? You must have done something if you can . . . you know." She gestured to all the cigarettes, chuckling. "I mean, I see this stuff all the time. In my lockers, the desks, my drawers, along the cracks in my bedframes . . . " She stopped speaking, as if she couldn't remember what to say, then she just laughed it off before taking another whiff. Her eyes caught mine again, expectant and crazed.

I shrugged, answering nonchalantly though inside I was squirming. "I did the same thing as you, though I used a gun." I have no idea why I chose to tell her of all people. But . . . with the way her eyes stayed unfocused in my direction and with all the cigarettes on the ground . . . I couldn't deny what had brought this on. No matter how much I hate her, Namine and I had one thing in common. We had both committed unspeakable acts for our own selfish reasons.

"Hmmm, that so?" She blew out another puff of air and started walking away. Before she reached the end of the hall she stared back at me with the most serious expression I had ever seen from her. When she spoke her tone was deadly. "Be prepared for a day in hell then."

I blinked, staring at her retreating form while the cigarettes around my feet slowly disappeared with her presence. "I don't need to, I'm already in it," I said, even though she was too far gone to hear me.

* * *

I walked home with an empty stomach and an empty spirit. When I entered the house I wasn't surprised to see my parents sitting with resolute postures on the couch. I slammed the front door shut.

"Vanitas, listen, you're not in trouble." Mom stood up, nearly waving her hands in an the universal symbol of surrender. My dad on the other hand looked at her as if she had said we were going to war with the landlord. He obviously had a different approach in mind for addressing my behavior earlier.

I growled at them. "I don't care! Ground me if you want, just stay out of my face!"

My dad stood up then, veins pulsing and eyes blazing. "Vanitas, I have had it up to here! We are going to talk."

I shook my head, running up the stairs. "I'm not in the mood. Lock me up, do whatever the hell you want, just leave me alone!"

I heard my dad shout, then my mom's voice rose and their voices quickly morphed into an argument. The bickering swarm nearly overwhelmed me, but with one single door slam I shut most of it out. I leaned against the door, banging my head slightly as I thought of every mistake I had made that morning. No . . . of every mistake that I had made in my entire life. "Dammit . . . damn this family." I formed a fist and punched my door as hard as I could.

The air grew colder as I spat out the filthy complaint. I dragged my nails down through the wood, wincing as I felt splinters drive into my fingers from the motion. I moved my hand to my shirt, clutching near my stomach, felt the rumble and fell to the floor. I focused on the pain, focused on my unsteady heartbeat. _Anything to distract me from the bickering downstairs, anything to bring back reality, anything to realize that . . . that this is my life now._

"I . . . I have to stay strong. He'll make a choice and I will accept it." I closed my eyes and repeated this to myself over and over, twisting my shirt repeatedly in my hands, like the tight coils of muscles in my stomach. I wasn't going to leave that room. Not until he came back. I shook my head in agreement before resting my head on my knees, prepared to wait.

**FLASH!**

My eyes popped open and were instantly blinded by a brief white speck of light. A flash from a camera. I rubbed my eyes vigorously and removed my hands just as I saw him lowering his camera. "Roxas?"

He didn't respond, wasn't even looking at me. I watched as he pressed random buttons on his camera, muttering to himself. "Vanitas. Age: 16. Taken at 4:55pm, slightly disheveled. Expression shows mainly shock and surprise. Yet . . . " He tilted his head, still staring at the photo he took. "Also relieved?"

I blinked at him. It was obvious that he wasn't talking to me but . . . there was something about the way he spoke, the tone of his voice when he described me in that horrible picture. Devoid of life, apathetic, dead . . . those terms came to mind as he lifted his head, staring at me with a resigned expression. His eyes were giving him away, but he looked away from my face before I could decipher the emotion behind them. "You didn't eat today."

It took me too long to respond. "Guess not."

"Why?" He had his back turned towards me. I watched as he drew a single white line on the wall.

"Just didn't feel like it." I let my eyes roam over his whole body. For some reason, I felt the need to pay close attention. With everything that had happened, I thought that would be the last time I could see him.

When he turned around he caught one of my stares. He didn't say anything for a long time, just stared back at me and through his eyes I could tell he wasn't holding up well. His mouth was set in a firm line and the longer we stared into each other's faces the more angry he started to look. Out of shock, I flinched back. This was the Roxas of my nightmares.

My fear seemed to piss him off more. "Get up."

I stood on shaky legs, never letting my eyes leave his face. If this was how things were going to go then I wouldn't disgrace him by looking away.

He frowned and in less than a second he teleported in front of me, slamming me into the wall with his palm. I felt his unnatural strength, with his hand alone he had me pinned and I knew I wouldn't be able to break away from his grasp. He brought his face closer, glaring at me with hot, red eyes. I watched the blood tears drip down his face. "You have some nerve."

I stared as his hand, watched his fingers dig deep into my shoulder. Wincing, I tried not to fight his grip, retaining the chilling cold spreading throughout my arm. "I . . . I don't understand."

He sneered at me and I felt his fingers go in deep enough to draw blood. "I don't know why I bothered wasting my time on you. Why I worked so hard trying to help you belong in this family." I could feel the vibrations as his body shook and he slammed his other hand against my other shoulder. "You were right, I was always so naïve to the truth. So blind . . . you never wanted to belong in this family but I kept pushing. Eventually something had to break, right? I didn't try hard enough for you, is that it?"

His tone was harsh, cynical. It was so uncharacteristic that I found myself gasping.

"Answer me, Vanitas!" He gripped my shoulders and slammed me back into the wall. I coughed and felt my vision slip briefly. My shoulders were burning now from the force of his fingers. No doubt there was blood running down my arms.

I struggled to speak. "Yes . . . I broke." I kept my eyes on his face, almost whispering. "I broke."

His answering smile was cruel. "No, you didn't just break. You gave up on the entire family. You gave up on Mom, you gave up on Dad . . . you gave up on _me_." His voice shook at the end but he recovered quickly. "You never trusted us to love you, to support you. You turned your back on us the moment you joined this family."

I couldn't respond to that. Again, I was only four when they adopted me but I wasn't going to point that out to Roxas with the state he was in. He obviously had more than a few choice words on his chest. It would be better for the both of us if I just allowed him to have his rant.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before I knew that was the wrong decision to make. I watched his eyes harden before his hand came flying towards my face. The slap forced my head sharply to the right. The skin surrounding my left cheek throbbed insistently. It would become a bruise. I took in a very deep breath, trying to stay calm. "What do you expect me to say, Rox?" I slowly turned my head back towards him. "We both know what I did, don't stall. You know I'm not very patient."

Roxas narrowed his eyes. "No, Vanitas, I don't _know_ you. I never knew you." He took a couple steps back, clenching his hands into fists and lowering his head, eyes hidden beneath dirty blonde bangs. "You're not my brother. You're just a worthless bastard who cares for nobody but yourself."

I felt a lump form in my throat and I swallowed, never letting my gaze on him waver. "Is that really what you think?"

His body shook and his eyes remained glued to the floor. When he spoke his voice was hoarse. "Yes."

"Then look at me and say it."

I watched his bottom lip tremble. "Why should I?"

"Rox . . . I need you to be honest with me. Don't beat around the bush." I crossed my arms over my chest. "If you're going to cuss me out, you might as well do it now. If you want to beat me up, then get that over with too. You've always sucked at defending yourself when it counts."

Roxas rubbed his eyes, smearing his palms and arms with blood. He then stood up straight, giving me such an immense look of hatred that I almost had to look away. "I don't have to prove myself to you . . . but because I dislike surprises I'm going to be nice. Just this one time." He mirrored my stance, crossing his arms over his chest, effectively hiding the blood. "As you know, our law says that I can't kill you. You've probably already seen what I've done to Namine. Do you want me to fully explain what I did to her?"

"No, I'd rather not." This was about us, not her. Plus, I felt better not knowing.

Roxas gave me a single nod, as if he expected me to answer that way. "Fine." He stared past me, as if in deep thought. "Normally, in cases this messed up the reaper gives the punishment."

"You mean . . . _her_?" I shivered. "You'll take me to her?"

"No."

I frowned. "Not sure I'm following you."

He walked up to me, slowly raising his hand, placing it on my left cheek where he had struck me. "No. I'm going to punish you myself."

It sounded odd coming from his mouth, and with the way he was touching my cheek it felt like he was checking for a bruise. "You took all day to figure that out?" I asked, unable to curb my sarcasm.

He closed his eyes and his mouth twitched, like he was trying to fight off a smile. "Yes, it did. There's still so much I don't know about you. Despite all these years, we're no better than strangers." His hand moved from my cheek to my hair, and he played with it absently. I don't think he knew he was doing it, he was staring off into space. "I want to get to know my _real_ brother, I want to know everything."

"How?"

He leaned in closer. "Vanitas . . . it's going to be very painful. You'll have to break again, I have to keep breaking you over and over until I satisfy her." His fingers formed a fist in my hair. "I have to provide evidence of your experience, that's why I'm allowed to keep the camera."

I shuddered as his breath hit my ear. "For how long?"

"Three days. One for every bullet you shot at me." He leaned away, eyes searching my face. "Are you scared?"

His expression was almost challenging, but the anger in his eyes had left and I realized that he had been trying to hide that one emotion all along. The despair screaming through his eyes was palpable. I turned away from him and messed with my fingers. "No, I'm not afraid. If this is what you have to do to be free then I can take it."

He sighed and I felt his hands press against my chest. "This just makes it worse for you. You know that, right?"

All I could manage was a nod before he guided me towards the bed. I laid down, giving him an odd look, but he was avoiding my face now and setting the covers over me. I watched his hands as he smoothed out the blanket in front of me. "Tucking me in? This is your punishment?" I felt like laughing but the situation was way too serious for that.

Roxas just stared straight ahead at my window. "Close your eyes."

Predictably, I rolled them before closing them, firmly resting my head against the pillow. In the next second the tips of his fingers pressed into my forehead, moving in a circular motion before resting over my eyes. "Sweet dreams, Vani."

I barely registered the nickname before instantly plunging headlong into darkness.

* * *

_I woke up in the house._

_The house was too big, really really big. I yelled. "Hello! Mommy? Daddy?"_

_I ran into the backyard. The grass pulled at my feet, tangling up and growing over my ankles, wrapping around them like some complex web. I tripped and glared at the ground. My body was too small, I was too small for this place._

_I stared at my chubby hands. "I'm . . . " I counted with my fingers. "Four years old."_

_"Vanitas? Vanitas!"_

_My head popped up and my eyes widened. Standing out on the porch was my Mom. Her beautiful black hair flew with the breeze, framing her yellow eyes and round face. She looked really worried. "I'm over here, Mom!" I waved my hand as wide as I could, but it didn't seem high enough. I looked back at the ground and gasped as my legs slowly sank deeper into the dirt, disappearing. "Mom, I'm sinking!"_

_"Vanitas, where are you?!" She kept looking around, head shifting back and forth fast._

_ She always missed me though, always looked past me as if I wasn't there. I was down to my waist now. "Mom, help me, please!" I reached out but the grass grew around my arm, taking it down into the ground with my legs. I was down to my shoulders now. _

_"Vanitas . . . where . . . are . . . " Her voice grew softer and softer, I couldn't see her anymore. _

_I wanted to scream but my mouth was already covered. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, only watch as the grass swarmed around my face. It just kept growing, curling into my nostrils, ears, eyes. It kept growing until I was covered completely._

_There was nothing but dirt all around me. A soft, scuttling noise seemed to be coming from the ground though. It reminded me of tiny drills. _

_What is that? What's making that noise?_

_I couldn't move, only lay there in the ground. Suddenly the dirt surrounding my left foot began to loosen up. At first I thought something was pulling me out, but as the sound continued I realized that my foot was . . . disappearing?_

_I couldn't frown but I wanted to, especially when the same feeling started happening near my waist and arms. _

Bugs . . . they're bugs.

_The voice surprised me. It sounded like my mom. I couldn't say anything out of my mouth, so I answered in my head. 'Bugs? Why would there be bugs, Mommy?'_

You're in the ground. These bugs are just doing their job. They get rid of what's not alive.

_'Alive?' I finally was able to open my mouth, but I still couldn't speak because more dirt just caved in . . . along with the bugs._

See? They're cleaning the Earth.

Your body is breaking. You are polluting the Earth.

_'I . . . I don't understand.'_

The bugs. The bugs clean the Earth.

You're not part of the Earth, Vanitas.

They must clean the Earth. They must _eat_ you.

* * *

I screamed as loud as I could, sitting up fast. I rubbed at my arms and legs, trying to work the numbness out of the areas where the bugs had gnawed me to the bone in my dream. I almost started scratching them before Roxas gripped my wrist. I opened my mouth to shout but he pressed his other hand against my mouth, cutting off all sound. "Shut up. Do you want Mom and Dad to come up here?"

I shook beneath his hand, staring at him with wide eyes. He just raised an eyebrow. "Sheesh, I didn't even dig deep for that one." He tilted his head to the side then pursed his lips, looking at me as if he were searching for someone else's face. "Your mother was very pretty."

I frowned beneath his hand and when he released me I stared at my chest, refusing to look at him. "I haven't had that dream since I was six." I rubbed my eyes, trying to get the smell of grass and dirt out of my face. "I never told you about that. I never . . . shared my dreams with you. How could you . . ?"

I almost didn't hear Roxas' response. "You talk a lot in your sleep, you know. You're also very descriptive. Still, it's different from seeing the real thing." He wrapped his arms around me, pushing my face against his chest. The smell of blood was faint yet present. "I used to hold you just like this when we were little, every time you had a nightmare . . . I would hold you just like this and stay until you fell back asleep."

His arms felt like manacles, trapping me instead of bringing me comfort. I shuddered while his chest moved, even though he wasn't really breathing and his heart wasn't beating. "Why . . . why are you holding me now?"

He brushed some of the hair out of my face. "I have to wait for you to fall asleep, Vani."

"Roxas . . . there's no way I can fall asleep after . . ."

"Shhhh." He held me and didn't say anything, no matter how much I shivered from his cold skin. Eventually, after being pressed against him for so long, my body got used to the freezing temperature and I felt myself nod off every few seconds. A part of me would wake myself up, knowing what was to come, but my body couldn't keep up the fight forever. In a manner of fifteen minutes Roxas was laying me back down, covering me with the blankets, and covering my eyes with his hand.

I was too far gone to tell for sure, but I think his fingers were shaking and when he spoke this time he sounded so sad. I don't remember what he said, again only my nickname came through before I was forced into another dream.

* * *

**Ugh, this chapter was hard to write at times! I don't know why, but Roxas gave me serious problems! I had to rewrite this one line of his several times. Meh . . . **

**Well, interesting developments. Don't worry, you'll see the reaper soon as well (like in the next chapter or the one after that, but don't quote me on this!). I have the whole story outlined from here, as far as what event takes place in each chapter. We're over halfway there so we're approaching the endgame, folks. I wanted to put more stuff in this chapter, but I realized that if I did that this chapter would turn out too long. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoyed reading this. Thank you for the reviews/critiques.**

**Until next time!**

**Justice T.**


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